This started on shoutbox, but I decided to extend it a bit...
Hope ya'll like it.
On a cliff above town, a lad stood once. With sword in hand, in armor clad.
At wave of his hand, and army from dark, plunged onto peasants, like hounds on their pray, ready to kill, prepared to die.
The valiant men, in towns gates fortified, with slingshots in hands, aimed at the raid.
The rain of rocks, flew at the flood, with shadow of cliff, hiding its brood.
As rocks hit the heads, the armors and ground, the dark beings withstood, only soon to fall.
But the vile beings, in debt did not stay. The arrows shoot, from bows of theirs began.
The vicious battle, many lifes took. The gates still stand, aggressors in blood.
But lad which did lead, still on the cliff, with eyes his sharp, still stood.
The men fortified, for childrens their fate, prepared to battle the man, weapons their grasped.
But then, as if mocking their resolve, the man vanished in the dark, words these first spoken:
"I did not lose, nor won did you. The blood so spilled, return shall here, haunting your minds, poisoning body.
By end of the month, the town shall fall. This prophecy to you, the darkness made known."
The fate of the town, not to be known. The wisest of bards, the bravest of knights.
Who dared to set foot, on the cursed, barren ground, soon fell to disease, with naught, but to die.
Who was the man, why fate that for town?! This knowledge, for now, with night shall die.