Requiem of the silver blade

A silver blade lays in rest on ice
Touched by winters bitter vice

It waits for fingers grip
To loose from slumber as a whip

To seal the fate
Of those wondering eight

But against its will
Youthful hands find its skill

Innocent of the hidden malice
Youth carries the blade into his palace

Now woken from its sleep  
It burns for the vengeance it can reap  

It will twist and pervert
Youth’s heart it must subvert

For its goal must be met
Those eight it will beset

Youth will loose his heart
Innocent and caught within this fray
Swords sole intent is blood and death
So youth’s hands it will use to sleigh

One of the eight soon learns
Of the swords vengeful return

Years have the eight spent running
Afraid to face the sword’s cunning

The youth broken of mind
The eight he is driven to find

The silver blade hangs from his back
Whispering its rage so black

At the turn of Spring Youth and blade
Find one of the eight resting twixt trees of a glade

Triggal never one to flee a present threat
Drew his sword knowing his death would be well met

The glade was given the name Triggal’s stand
And so it was known across the land

A taste of vengeance the silver blade had obtained
Leaving that sun kissed glade timelessly stained

In time the seven that yet lived on  
Learned of Triggal’s bitter end
There hearts torn that did share true blood
Three arose, there brothers death seeking to amend  


Here ends the first ballad of the Silver blade.