Lore, Midweek, Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story

Sounding the alarm.

They said it would come, they knew it would come, the prophets turned saviours implored.

For evil would bang on its ever sounding drum to march to the beat of wicked deeds.

But fear not to those who would listen to such, who would hear the drums and the words, for salvation would come from the prophets who warned so eagerly of what was.

For evil would sound it drum of war, but fear not if the sound had not met you. For the prophets were all too happy to sound their own drums from long in the ages before.

And should your ears tire from hearing such things that its rhythm should be muted from years of its use, the prophets will tell you how much worse the drums sound when they come from too far away to hear.

Oh how wicked and unjust those tribes are, those kingdoms, those people of war. For they are not as noble as ours, not just or right as our own.

So be not fearful for the drums of war, the ones drowned out by our own, for salvation is coming for those who seek it, simply offer your life for our banner. And our banner will surely save not only yourself, but all things you surely hold dear.

And so the prophets chanted for the saviours they would become.

For the banner they will hold, and the law they would impose. For the prophets assure theirs is just.

Just listen to the sound of the war drum, the one that has sounded since before your birth. The drums that work with the distance, which is surely the reason you cannot hear the drums of our foe.

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