The Red Hand of Doom

Chapter 11

An unfinished journal entry

Winter was coming All through the vale The snow was turning To a deadly hail.

The frost burned their noses Iced over their toeses (?) Shattered their roses And struck down their poses.

Give up they could not Or the Ghostlord, in his rot And withering flesh, would jot Their demise in a… something else that rhymes with ‘not’.

“And when they finally reached the Ghostlord’s Lair They were frozen in their place, did naught but stare For the lions surrounded the place, it would ne’er Prove prudent to assume the fight would be fair.

Their first foe, Varanthian Proved more than a threat She guarded the only way in The Horde hedged its bet(s)

A first battle won A victory at cost The lions grew quiet They climbed past the frost

Yeah, I didn’t finish this one. Making the entire post a nursery rhyme was too ambitious.

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