The Shaman – Duel, Part III

Demon who was in chains to ground

In chains to ground and Corpse was still

With piercing eyes she saw and found

The creatures summoned had their own will

“When one moves, if the others do stop

Then one by one, their heads I’ll lop”

 

As ritual demands, he strung his bow

He strung his bow, let loose a shot

She moved ahead, toward her foe

Who missed, of course, she can’t be caught

His arms went limp, his eyes were closed

The others moved forth, fatally posed

 

The Demon lunged with mighty axe

With mighty axe, while others were still

She ran ahead yet in her tracks

To shred the Corpse who she can’t kill

The mighty cleaver, its mark was missed

The Beast moved forth, and loudly hissed

 

Midway in track and changed her path

And changed her path, the Beast had blocked

The Corpse not the Man, the first bloodbath

Her intent upon that end was locked

She reached behind the deadly five

The one to control the others strive

 

The Beast it charged, the feral steed

The feral steed to gore its prey

On last of moments, with lightning speed

She jumped above, out of its way

The stage was set, just three in her front

Two were separated, spare even a grunt

 

She ran ahead with outstretched stave

Outstretched stave in front and above

The Corpse looked up, let loose a laugh

And let itself be cut like a dove

If it seems too easy, too easy it is

What brilliant evil lies behind this?

 

An evil Corpse was cut in three

Was cut in three, the God did smile

Hands together and let words free

To reveal to her the strategy vile

Hurt the Corpse and the God is strong

Or hurt the God, a similar wrong

 

Stunning light shone from the God

Shone from the God and blinded her

Beast and Demon prepared to charge

Finish the maiden, unable to stir

“’Tis not this moment, for me to die

Move yourself, for glory you vie!”

 

The Demon and Beast, at once they charge

At once they charge and ram their heads

“Unbecoming of those two to barge

On a lady like me, who no one beds”

From afar she spoke having broken the stun

By letting her breakfast through her mouth run

 

The others went limp, awoke the Man

Awoke the Man, tilted his head

“Devious are thee, to puke in that span

Or am I to make, two lives dead?”

He hadn’t heard the words she spoke

His senses worked once he awoke

intellectual vs. artist

Reblogged from Coco J. Ginger Says:

“An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.”

― Charles Bukowski

The Shaman – Society, Part IV

Finally comes one’s nation; the final mistake of trusting one’s compatriots.

The Shaman -being the only one of his order then- was on speaking terms with some of the sympathetic members from the higher echelons of government and the other orders. Support for revival was scant, especially from the priests. Yet, even though a maverick, he trusted the law of the land and the way of the city. The few sympathetic ones were simply sympathetic, no one took a firm stance, as is the way with those involved in politics. Those offended or threatened by him even tried attempts at his life and integrity. The latter were somewhat successful.

The former, utter failures even with the finest cloaks and daggers. The Shaman, out of young adulthood, strong and wise already was impossible to kill with underhanded tactics. A sneak attack could be felt through the ground and traps were useless. He could sense impending changes in temperature and the heat from assassins’ pet creatures. He had already built an impressive resilience towards venoms, and could detect poisons in comestibles to be ingested. Projectiles from any distance created perceptible changes in air pressure and he could clear the air around him of the vilest of concoctions. Beyond this, he could call upon a guardian elemental, a superbly-wrought shield and a special interceptor totem.

Hence while the standing of the Shaman was still quite lowly, the despicable people around him gave him petty jobs and ostensible jibes. The drums of war were heard in the distance, and more than one attempt was made at making him a scapegoat. He was once asked to carry a message into what was obviously an ambush. Escaping with a broken arm, he was then called weak and asked to stay away from fighting.

As war became more and more imminent, thanks to subversive elements on both sides of the divide, everyone knew that this could be the event of redemption for the Shaman. Nonetheless, as his chosen way of life suggested, he tried his best to avert the impending doom of many, as is inevitably the effect of war. He focused on defence and recited poetry for peace at his weekly recitals.

Alas, Fate decided that the war would take place. Assassinations were quickly followed by declarations and the call to arms.

The Shaman prepared for Redemption.

 

You puppet whose strings are held by Fate

You sling your mud at me

That mud is simply Earth and Water

What are you trying to be?

 

You infidel who gives your laden speech

And try to breed your hate

Kinder the Fire with gust of Air

And a shaman you try to bait?

 

Your poison is weak, your dagger is lame

Try not to stop my heart

By strength of will does this man walk

Let at least the war start

 

Inevitable does appear this war

I’ll redeem myself with glee

Totem and mace and shield are ready

My enemy, don’t you flee!

 

 

oghmaciously yours