rushing to our deaths at the king's behest
strength of eight banded together
We fall to their spears and their lances.
yet we surge on, the goal in our eyes
cutting beneath a horse's hooves,
we march on.
One in a million, a survivor reaches the goal.
He cannot rest, yet is redeployed again
armed by heroism, striking out against his foes
speed insurmountable, darting across the field
death in form and function.
shattering through fortifications
crushing the footmen without thought
yet the knight remaining leaps to counter
desperate to save his lord and kin
the lance connects to the hero
and the latter falls to the ground