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.