The Wizard's Keep Pt. 1

The night was dark. The air hung with sodden weight.
Ominous, the sky darkened. Storm clouds brewed o’er head
The wind reared anew, a slashing disheartening edge,
Running amok in the crags, scented with pine and wolf.

The looming spires quicken hearts in every chest,
Nestled amongst the clouds, where eagles eyries nest.
‘Midst these forbidding peaks, rising stark and steep,
Old Mydraxxis lurks, lurks in the Wizard’s Keep.

Ages long past, from these dark gates he boldly strode,
Unchallenged, omnipotent! Across all lands he rode.
No King, neither Captain nor Mage could pretend,
To possess the power to make Mydraxxis, onto his knees, bend.

Dram Styrden, the undefeated ‘Sword of The East’,
‘Twas by the Wizard’s hands that his saga ceased.
The Wolves of Cyrrem, one legion, a hundred battles, not one fatality,
Mydraxxis, staff in hand, taught them mortality.

The fair Sorceress Evelin, feared scion of the Faerie Tower,
Even her magicks quailed before the Wizard’s power.
Aeons and Empires, both lived and died as he deigned,
From atop the Wizard’s Keep, Mydraxxis reigned.

Day saw him engaged, consumed, in the Art’s toils.
Night, saw him partake in his vast spoils,
In his Wizard’s Keep, rising stark and steep,
Heralding a new day, laviscious glee! As gentle souls weep’d.

Time passed, the weight of ages his strength drained,
The Wizard’s Keep, the Black Tower! It’s name waned.
So compelled by time, into the obscure backwaters of history,
Mydraxxis retreated into his keep, cloaked in folds of mystery.

Merciless, the world left him in the past,
Along with the Wizard’s Keep, and all its sorry cast.
But in his chamber, Mydraxxis sat, waited staff in hand,
Wreathed in magick, praying, waiting for his last stand.