With sword in hand,
Gwyn steps onto the field
Son of Nudd, he can slaughter all

Who step into his path

He reminiscences of his first

Battle in his youth
Wielding a claymore with a two-hand grip
Its strange how the giant blade

Felt much heavier then
Now its hilt sees rarely more than one hand


Gwyn ape Nudd, since his first war
Has an uncanny physical focus
Its as though his foes are bogged in mire

Fresh for the filleting

This warrior was made for the giant blade

At least a body's length
Daggers, cutlass and scimitars
Are left for the weakest of men


Spears and scythes have no weight
Clubs have no edge

Only the great sword has the build
Truly meant for a warrior


The first decapitation
Earliest evisceration
Weigh heavy on the mind

Given time, the calluses of war
Harden the soul


The battle is nigh
Its time to ready for the carnage to come
A blackened heart

For the greater good
Is well worth the onslaught