The Ballad of the Bloody King

A gentle king in days of yore
Did reign, whilst grace his realm outpoured.
With watchful eye he saw it thrive,
And bore a lion-blade alive—
All silver-bright, of holy gleam,
Unstain’d by blood or mortal scream.

He loath’d the way of war and steel,
Yet drew his sword that peace might heal.
But every fray a shadow cast,
And mercy from his breast did pass.

His heart, once warm, to fire did turn,
As wisdom froze to dread austern.
With iron will he led his host,
And spread his fear from coast to coast.

Till came at last the final field,
Where king and squire their light did yield.
The fruitful earth ran crimson o’er,
Whilst ravens wheeled in skies of gore.

They rais’d a stone of ashen grey,
To grant the dead their solemn stay.
There sleeps the Bloody King alone,
Red fire yet gleams through lifeless stone.

Then came a sage in raiment grey,
With travel’s dust upon his way.
He rais’d his staff and spake a word
Whereby the wheels of fate are stirr’d.

Great powers keep that silent grave,
The living stone no dark can brave.
And should foul hands with wicked thought
Draw near, by wizard’s curse are caught.

A peaceful king ruled long ago, 
In grace he watched his kingdom grow. 
He bore a lion-sword of light, 
Unstained by blood, and silver-bright.

He loathed the path of war and steel, 
Yet fought so others peace might feel. 
But with each fray a shadow crept, 
And mercy from his soul was swept.

His heart, once kind, began to sear, 
As wisdom turned to cold, hard fear. 
He led his host with ruthless hand, 
And spread his terror through the land.

Until there came the final fight, 
When king and squire fell from light. 
The fertile soil turned crimson red, 
Beneath the ravens’ wings o'erhead.

They raised a stone of cold grey hue, 
To give the fallen rest their due. 
The Bloody King sleeps, silent, lone, 
With red light gleaming through the stone.

Then came a sage in robes of grey, 
With dust of travel on his way. 
He raised his staff and spoke the word, 
By which the wheels of fate are stirred.

Great forces guard the silent tomb, 
The living stone defies the gloom. 
Should any thief with evil thought, 
By wizard’s curse be swiftly caught.

Tomb sign

Each soul amongst thee bears a heavy vice, 
Be it a lie, a theft, 
or blood’s foul price. 
This portal yields to none 
but those who dare 
To face their own transgressions in the glare. 
Relinquish now thy heart’s unholy fire, 
Let the grim guardian feast on thy desire; 
Thus purged of guilt, 
walk forth with spirit clear.
    

Each of you bears a sin 
that weighs you down. 
Be it a lie, a theft, 
or blood on your hands, 
this gate shall open only to those 
who dare to face their own failings. 
Surrender your desire, 
let the guardian devour it, 
and pass through 
with a soul made pure.