Beware, beware! the heralds sing, and all shall turn asunder,
havoc cries out from the masses, the halls will echo with the thunder.
Red rain, they say, shall take us all, a scourge upon the land,
and in the sand the scepter lies, the cure within his hand.
He returns to claim his rightful place, usurpers smite and sting.
His shadow falls, in terror they run when he returns upon the wing.
Deep within the earth he lies, his rest, ethereal slumber.
Until the hour of reckoning, we suffer, sit, and wait in wonder.
As the long, dark night yearns for dawn, as fire yearns for fuel,
the three shall perish for their deeds, the Piper, the Juggler, the Fool.
His wrath upon the wicked, his vengeance he will bring.
He’s summoned home our lord and liege, he comes! The Crimson King!
-The song of Ermand, the Bard of Black Court
From the future fantasy novel, The Crimson King by Lyle S. Russell