Staring out from the battlement,

At the gathering force of foes in the valley below,

Where the horde has amassed,

And is now whipping itself up into a deafening storm of hurricane force,

Who will be the victor and vanquished when it finally abates?

Will my blade shatter and spoil in the ferocious onslaught to come?

Or, will I find myself drowning in a pool of my own blood and gore?

Uncertainty is anathema to even the best laid plans;

An unwelcome harbinger on the eve of any battle,

When grim resolve, is the only comfort that temptress salvation will allow.