Stormborn

Harken.

Waves will crash like gods’ drums,
As first brine-breath is drawn,
Three silver circles homage pay,
To Pelagic Prince’s dawn.

Watch.

Kraken tremble in his wake,
Sea and sky bow to his will,
His voice Leviathan command,
And ocean’s fury still.

Scent.

Crackle of the coming storm,
In waters laced with blood.
Unless he stands within his Eye,
None will withstand the flood.

Taste.

Blood and fire on brine and sand,
An ancient battle, long delayed.
Inheritance now to be claimed,
His hand will not be stayed.

Grasp.

Sunken crown to now drawn forth,
And foes masters’ overthrow.
Take up the Fallen’s mantle,
Rule above and rule below.

Stormborn

The Pirate Game mbwelsh