The thunderous clouds rolled in
Heralding the oncoming storm.
A scream pierced the night
And three hundred torches as one were lit.
Their faces grim and determined,
Their armour engraved and polished
And as one they hollered
The clarion call for justice, and for freedom.
With their King they marched to the usurper's gate
Skewering and hewing every opposition with practiced gait.
Surviving the moat, they built a ford,
They very walls of the fort they scored.
Yet, with each step forward Ares abandoned them:
Their numbers diminished and their morale sunk.
One was ordered to turn back,
Walk away and return home with the news:
"Alas! It was our King and three men
With Usurper's thousand against him."
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