A poem about: The once bustling prosperous glorious port city of Tiverswell now up in flames ruined destruction death ( the poem takes place in the year of 1890 ) the night the moon red as blood the night smoke cinder , the invisible veil that separates realm appears to have shattered disappeared, nightmarish creatures and fiends have appeared chaos blood death eerie grusome ghastly people fear souls death slaughter of the innocent protectors overwhelmed and slain streets run red men women children elderly all slain dread other worldly beings with the form of a stallion from the waist down, torso of a man, and the head of a lizard muscular wielding pole axes and some with lances impaling and hacking away with delight grim, tall and imposing clad in ebon scale armor wielding and and uses shield yellow slitted eyes helm with gnashing sharp teeth demonic knights cutting everyone down slaughtering laughing their face red cruel inhuman eyes horrid breath, suddenly ne of the demons cry out then its head soars through the air black ichor heads lands oonto the ground, the nude form of a winged female demon with the stench of sulfur and decay flies by her large bat-like wings she shrieks as her body suddenly plummets to the ground her body cleaved in half from hip to hip, black ichor and innards the fiends look on in utter confusion a lone figure with long wheat color hair and eyes of a vibrant blood and fair skin with sword in hand the blade coated in black his eyes glaring at the demons the demons begin to laugh doubting the prowess and skill set of this new foe their laughter cut short as his blade strikes true evading and dodging the weapons of his hellish foes the charms of the succubi hovering above have no effect his blade imbued with mana cleaves through armor and bare flesh alike reptilian heads and the heads of the red skinned knights lie on the street bubbling puddles of black ichor their bodies in heaps the lone swordsman leaps into the night air slashing at the foul winged hell harlots severing wings limbs and heads all falling to the ground below A tall hulking demon knight no longer with helm clashes blades with the lone human warrior the demon is shocked qnd puzzled by the strength and speed of the lone human the demon's defense is breached the blue-eyed avenger buries his blade deep into the center of the chest of the demon, black ichor leaks from the nose and mouth of the hellish brute his yellow eyes wide as the sword is drawn back and the blue eyed warrior raises his sword high over head and in a downward blow cleaves his foe in half. The man stands alone in the midst of the grisly scene panting sigh there was still much for him to do, his name Anselm Casey, a former knight of The Order of the Lancers of Dawn. He was now a mercenary hired by the church. dauntless strong powerful highly skilled intelligent formidable tall wind miasma death rot bodies scattered of human monster and demon alike rot the stars are red like tiny dots of blood in the vast black mass of the night's sky when will this waking nightmare be over he had no clue still work to be done

The once bustling prosperous glorious port city of Tiverswell now up in flames ruined destruction death ( the poem takes place in the year of 1890 ) the night the moon red as blood the night smoke cinder , the invisible veil that separates realm appears to have shattered disappeared, nightmarish creatures and fiends have appeared chaos blood death eerie grusome ghastly people fear souls death slaughter of the innocent protectors overwhelmed and slain streets run red men women children elderly all slain dread other worldly beings with the form of a stallion from the waist down, torso of a man, and the head of a lizard muscular wielding pole axes and some with lances impaling and hacking away with delight grim, tall and imposing clad in ebon scale armor wielding and and uses shield yellow slitted eyes helm with gnashing sharp teeth demonic knights cutting everyone down slaughtering laughing their face red cruel inhuman eyes horrid breath, suddenly ne of the demons cry out then its head soars through the air black ichor heads lands oonto the ground, the nude form of a winged female demon with the stench of sulfur and decay flies by her large bat-like wings she shrieks as her body suddenly plummets to the ground her body cleaved in half from hip to hip, black ichor and innards the fiends look on in utter confusion a lone figure with long wheat color hair and eyes of a vibrant blood and fair skin with sword in hand the blade coated in black his eyes glaring at the demons the demons begin to laugh doubting the prowess and skill set of this new foe their laughter cut short as his blade strikes true evading and dodging the weapons of his hellish foes the charms of the succubi hovering above have no effect his blade imbued with mana cleaves through armor and bare flesh alike reptilian heads and the heads of the red skinned knights lie on the street bubbling puddles of black ichor their bodies in heaps the lone swordsman leaps into the night air slashing at the foul winged hell harlots severing wings limbs and heads all falling to the ground below A tall hulking demon knight no longer with helm clashes blades with the lone human warrior the demon is shocked qnd puzzled by the strength and speed of the lone human the demon's defense is breached the blue-eyed avenger buries his blade deep into the center of the chest of the demon, black ichor leaks from the nose and mouth of the hellish brute his yellow eyes wide as the sword is drawn back and the blue eyed warrior raises his sword high over head and in a downward blow cleaves his foe in half. The man stands alone in the midst of the grisly scene panting sigh there was still much for him to do, his name Anselm Casey, a former knight of The Order of the Lancers of Dawn. He was now a mercenary hired by the church. dauntless strong powerful highly skilled intelligent formidable tall wind miasma death rot bodies scattered of human monster and demon alike rot the stars are red like tiny dots of blood in the vast black mass of the night's sky when will this waking nightmare be over he had no clue still work to be done

In Tiverswell, where moonlit whispers lay,
A city once of gold in fateful fray,
Its glories now in ashes, flames unroll,
The night consumed by chaos, death, and souls.

An eerie veil is torn, the realms collide,
Fiends on stallion legs with lizard hide,
Their laugh a cruel echo in the dark,
Amongst the ruins, fear ignites its spark.

Demonic knights with eyes of jaundiced flame,
Slaughtered innocence, no name or shame,
Yet 'mid the cinders, one stands lone and bright,
Anselm Casey, a beacon in the fight.

His blade a whisper cutting through the din,
The dancing forms of succubi draw thin,
He dances with the demons, cleaving lives,
Their laughter silenced by his fateful knives.

A hulking brute confronts him in the melee,
Its helm discarded; eyes betray dismay,
Yet Anselm’s strength, a storm without respite,
Drives deep his sword, divides the fiend’s dark blight.

The ichor flows like rivers on the stones,
A testament to battles lone hero owns
Amongst the rot, both man and beast now laid,
Beneath a sky of crimson hope delayed.

In a sea of black where red stars mourn above,
He wonders when this hellish night shall move.
But Anselm stands, his sword aloft and keen,
The church's avenger, endless war unseen.

For still another night, through death he wades,
Dauntless, with no clue when peace invades.
Yet duty calls upon the dawn's faint hue,
With strength renewed, his fight anew, anew.

Change poem background

Text color

Select a theme

In Tiverswell, where moonlit whispers lay, A city once of gold in fateful fray, Its glories now in ashes, flames unroll, The night consumed by chaos, death, and souls. An eerie veil is torn, the realms collide, Fiends on stallion legs with lizard hide, Their laugh a cruel echo in the dark, Amongst the ruins, fear ignites its spark. Demonic knights with eyes of jaundiced flame, Slaughtered innocence, no name or shame, Yet 'mid the cinders, one stands lone and bright, Anselm Casey, a beacon in the fight. His blade a whisper cutting through the din, The dancing forms of succubi draw thin, He dances with the demons, cleaving lives, Their laughter silenced by his fateful knives. A hulking brute confronts him in the melee, Its helm discarded; eyes betray dismay, Yet Anselm’s strength, a storm without respite, Drives deep his sword, divides the fiend’s dark blight. The ichor flows like rivers on the stones, A testament to battles lone hero owns Amongst the rot, both man and beast now laid, Beneath a sky of crimson hope delayed. In a sea of black where red stars mourn above, He wonders when this hellish night shall move. But Anselm stands, his sword aloft and keen, The church's avenger, endless war unseen. For still another night, through death he wades, Dauntless, with no clue when peace invades. Yet duty calls upon the dawn's faint hue, With strength renewed, his fight anew, anew.