The Chronicles of War: The War Testament of
Caylen-Tor (On the Night of the Bloodying of
Swords): O' grim gods of battle, empower us this
night... Anoint us with the crimson rain, feed our
steel with slaughter... Let every blow be a
killing blow, grant us victory, or a warrior's
death. Come, moon-fogs, Descend to cloak our
numbers, the heady scent of battle beckons, My
ash-hafted spear feels good in my hands, girt
'round with spells (our flesh gloriously) woad
anointed, Ravens awaiting slaughter soar high
above, blood-worms bloat on red carnage, I'll
carve the moon-wheel in their flesh, as havoc
churns the heather!

A swirling mantle of mist-magic swathes us,
powerful spells woven by the fen-witches of the
great mere... Deep night and moon-mist shall be
our allies as we surge into the fray! At my
bidding, the fog clears for a brief moment, and I
gaze down upon the valley to behold the army of
the Witch-Queen... great tents arrayed upon the
heather, powerful steeds tethered, the light from
countless burning brands illumining the night,
many warriors standing, weapons in hand... aye,
all sword fodder.

Entwined in war-fogs... Entwined by war-spells...
Blessed in blood as raven-saters, slake the thirst
of steel burning bright, Reap the harvest of
spilled entrails, we'll return with many heads
this night. The death-ravening black fury fills
me, The spatter of hot blood seet on my lips, This
yard of steel sings a deadly song in my grasp!
Cleaving bodies left and right, a head falls with
each swing of my blade, A storm of shafts
screaming form yew-bows, (through their armoured
ranks we shall) carve a path with steel, a
blood-drenched swath!

Find more similar lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.com/rXDAnd the thirst of the earth shall be slaked with
blood at the fields of carnage... A staggering sea
of crimson, a towering mountain of ravaged flesh,
All enraptured by the searing kiss of steel, All
surfeit from supping deep of the grim chalice of
battle...

Brooding gods of the north, display to these
outlander thralls thine ire, Envenom our blades
with the death-kiss of a thousand serpents,
Unfetter the dread war-wolves within us, That
their claws may rend, and their jaws may be
reddened.

The bloodying is at hand!

Bright moon, gleam o'er moor and heather, wood and
vale, deep fen and lake, Grim mountains crowned
with snows, great rings of stones, black 'neath
the stars, The storms extol our ancient glory,
great mounds feed us, power from the sacred earth.
With faith and steel we walk our shadowed paths,
our blood runs as fire, swords blessed by sorcery.

Wolves of the north, raise thine steel to the
skies, revel in the pride of your wounds, Let our
victory-song ride the winds of this blood-gorged
eve, For on this night of red swords we have
wrought a legend, Forged in the fires of our rage,
and tempered with the spilled blood of the
slain...

O' grim gods of battle, empower us this night and
always, Anoint us with the crimson rain, forever
feed our steel with slaughter... Let every blow be
a killing blow, grant us eternal victory, 'til we
die a warrior's death.

Lyrics: Byron Music: Jonny Maudling