Thirst. Darkness. Hunger. Pain.
A mind so numb and dull,
of toil and drudge,
of bleakest grudge,
in pit of sludge.
Woe. Shackles. Terror. Scars.
A wrath so long oppressed,
of bitter fate,
of vilest hate,
it will not wait.
Whips. Fury. Struggle. Slay.
A deed so raw and great,
of strongest will,
of love to kill,
in blackest mill.
Break. Speech. Muster. Lead.
A chief so filthy low,
of host of scum,
of wretched slum,
now beat the drum!
Rise. Carnage. Murder. Glee.
Thrice Ragnar chose to stand not flee,
led unknown thralls in lands afar,
for warrior would nought die but free,
now raise the mighty Chaos star!
War. Bloodshed. Omens. Flame.
Lift your axe and brandish spear,
forget your maiden’s home,
see Hobgoblins run down in fear,
their master but a gnome!
Pride. Valour. Hubris. False.
Praise Dark Gods and hail,
build shields of scrap,
and lethal flail,
fall into trap!
March. Cruel. Power. Hell.
Hear the thralls be torn apart,
know fell ranks arrayed,
see bale Daemon iron cart,
feel your hide be flayed!
Steel. Horns. Ashen. Might.
Burn living flesh to cinders,
and crush man’s bravery,
no god their triumph hinders,
the lords of slavery.
Maim. Panic. Torture. Geld.
A wretch so broken down,
of eyes cut blind,
of ravished mind,
his fate to find.
Chant. Occult. Secret. Rite.
A bull so fierce and hard,
of bronze and smoke,
of flames and coke,
to victim stoke.
Knife. Heinous. Idol. Death.
A glow so hot and strong,
of its molten gold,
of flesh thrown cold,
into altar old.
Name. Fame. Saga. Told.
A man so rash and strong,
of gods’ caprice,
of whip to cease,
for only thralls wish peace,
war for Ragnar,
listen well,
and sacrifice these geese.
- Norscan war poem
Entry for Artisan’s Contest XXXV.
@Zoddtheimmortal : I was short on time, so I searched for figurines of slaves. I picked some more eye-catching Roman and Egyptian ones, plus a Bronze Age European casting, and just drew them on a line as if mounted on an ornamental shelf.