I came to this bleak land
for reasons unbeknownst
to rigid rank and file.
True, my love of blood was
my final undoing,
but did anyone care
to ask how I became
the death-bringer that I
am reputed to be?
Hannelore, my heart,
I swore I would save you
from false accusation
though you were unfaithful
to me time and again.
I can't forgive myself
for not being present
on the night when you were
not where everyone
thought you were tempting
fate to some unseen end.
I only saw the axe
slice deeply- I was too late.
In my grief, I avenge
you time and time again
so that my own soul, too,
may ever be damned.
Let the rest be guessed
by those ignorants who
never cared to ask.
Send him to fight. He rides
like Hell on horseback, sire.
Trust what she said he said
about this ruthless man.
Court rumors are worth far
more than their weight in gold.
Do you fancy a swing
of his swift serpent-sword
aimed at your own crown?
I advise you: It’s wise
to let this battle-dog
have what he’s requesting.
Besides, I’ve herd stories
that I would not repeat
for all thy royal gold.
The mist curls beneath the trees...
Leaves scuttle from the light force of the breeze..
The air is quiet, not a sound.
Until one hears the dreaded pound....
Of that fateful horse, which carries death....
Death that is carried out by a murderous wretch...
The Horseman appears like a tree from the fog,
Drawing his sword swiftly, cutting through the empty twilight...
The footsteps come closer...closer until....
Time itself seems to stand still...
And darkness folds around you, swallowing you into nothingness...
With one last fleeting stampede the Horseman collects what is his...
A head that inside the tree of hell will give...
A monstrous Horseman the chance to have his....
The Legend
Author: Elaine Carter
Never travel the Hollow at night.
The road is easy.
It's less than a mile home.
Don't walk too slow,
Don't stroll too fast:
Just whistling in the dark.
The warm air is cheery with crickets,
The sky is sown with stars.
(but there's thunder on the horizon)
A mist seeps up from the gound,
Curling silver in the moonlight.
Don't walk too slow--
Should have thought to wait till morning.
Don't stroll too fast--
Would have avoided the coming storm.
Just whistling in the dark.
(that's only thunder in the distance)
The mist is turning thicker now,
The road is rocky.
Don't walk too slow,
Don't stroll too fast.
The chill air echoes with a nervous tune.
The sound of the storm is coming closer:
Those cold stars know who's next.
(that's just thunder, isn't it? just thunder)
Can't see the road anymore.
Don't walk too slow,
Don't trip in haste
In the formless, grasping mist.
Whistling doesn't work.
There's a familiar shape waiting ahead:
Look! A light in the window!
Warm house, safe bed.
This will all be funny in the morning.
(not thunder, that's not thunder!)
Make a dash for the front door--
Run, you fool!
Breath coming cold and fast,
Heart racing like hooves.
Thud, thup.
Thud, thup.
Thud, thup.
--hiss--
Lop.
You do not understand
the words that I say to you,
intruder. The language
that I am forced to speak
is oddly defunct, even to one
who speaks with grace
and nuance such as yours.
I shall have you if you
are not careful, so watch
your every wincing step.
I do not seek you at sunset.
I do not seek you when
thunder heralds my coming.
I do not seek you at all,
foolish stranger. You know.
So why is it that every time
I turn around, you are there
waiting to fall in a dead faint
or catch the tip of my sword?
Listen to your own ravings.
You're wiser than you think.
