When the fog of ash splits open,
a cold glancing moon glazes the land.
And his pale light gazes after
nocturnal storms which clear the sky.
And within remains descent
which are consigned to oblivion,
a long shadow accedes the throne,
exalted by the howling horde.
Craving blazing torches are yearning for his silhouette
during he turns around to expound the grave decrees.
Emptiness vanishes from his sight.
Instead of this a malevolent sparkling engulfs his gaze.
Our enemy has inflicted great losses
in the devastating slaughter of last night.
We cannot accept this disgraceful defeat
and would strike back entirely even before sundawn.
Convoke all warriors and let them swear
the oath of allegiance and require their brave.
Traitors of our banner
should be executed.
That's for disobeying
the supreme court of justice.
Seething with rage the horde swarms out
to efface the dynasty of this offenders.