The
Epic of Osmond Frost
-Grant
Pearson
Blades
flash, bodies crash
Against
each other like dominoes.
Blood
flows, Death knows
There's
going to be a feast tonight.
Shining
light, burning bright
As
a bonfire on a moonless plain.
Shattering
pain, all in vain
Fall
at the feet of the knightly hero.
Every
foe will soon know
The
power with which he wins.
Piercing
skins, erasing sins
Of
Demons and Humans in turn.
“You
shall burn, if you don't learn
Not
to interfere with me!”
Roared
he of infamy,
the
demon dragon, Satan's spawn.
“I'll
battle on until you're gone,
Or
until my body can fight no more!”
So
he swore, soldier of lore,
And
swung his sword once again.
“Osmond
then, hero of men,
Let
it be known to one and all,
You
shall fall at my call
Unless
on your knee before me you bow!
“I'm
the prow of 'n army now
And
your family will die with you.
Only
few seem to construe
The
hopeless plight you are fighting.”
Once
biting, and then sighting
Another
poor soul to consume,
A
fire flume, soldier's doom
Came
from the mouth of the one, Glaurung.
Flick
'f th' tongue, the story's sung,
Of
how the day was so nearly lost.
But
Osmond Frost, at all cost,
Did
not sit back and let the dragon rule.
Fire
but the fuel for the fool,
Hardened
rage into the suicide run.
Fearless
one, bright as the sun
Drove
his sword into the dragon's flank.
Deep
it sank, yields a blood tank,
But
it's not enough to dispatch.
Eyes
a lit match, the dragon's scratch
Takes
off an arm, throws the hero to the ground.
“Look
around! Your army's downed!
Why
do you continue to resist?”
It
hissed, and with a twist
of
its tail it wreathed the hero's chest.
Distressed
that his quest
seemed
to be nearing its end,
For
none lend a hand to fend
off
the unbreakable scales and wicked claws.
None,
because the gaping jaws
Eerily
wait, saliva dripping.
Mind
tipping, the hero is slipping
Into
a world of memory's past.
To
his wife, unsurpassed
in
beauty, wisdom, 'n love. To this prize
His
soul flies. To himself lies
That
she and the children will survive.
“I'm
alive, and that drive
Will
keep me fighting to the death!”
Osmond
saith, and his next breath:
“I
fight for justice, freedom, 'n goodness!”
“You
impress, though you're a mess.
What
good have you done here, my prey?
Crush
you to clay, your blood will spray
With
a single flick of my mighty fist.
“You'll
cease to exist, and your piteous
chivalry
will be all for naught.
You
have sought to but blot
me
out and failed. Now what Osmond?”
He
didn't respond, was beyond
the
reach of the devil who held him.
Death
was grim, and sung a hymn
To
recount this catastrophe.
So
angrily, but lazily,
The
snake left the body battered,
tattered,
shattered,
Empty
of everything, but not quite dead.
And
so he bled with much unsaid
About
how he thought this day would close.
In
Death's throes, years back he goes
To
when the prophetess told his fate.
Said
he'd be great, a king of weight,
But
the responsibility 's too grave.
“I'm
not brave enough, can't save
A
kingdom.” But they didn't hear.
So
he'd disappear, find a willing ear
in
a village girl who gave him everything
He
needed. King-to-be fled that spring,
Forfeiting
the right the crown to reclaim
Because
the shame had tainted his name.
So
he married the common girl and made
A
masquerade life that only delayed
The
time he'd been chosen for.
Then
came war, he joined the corp,
And
became a champion in 'n instant.
Osmond's
infant brother, warrior persistent
Finally
recognized him and spoke;
With
a choke: “You provoke
Awe
from me. Father hates you.
But
I'll break through that horrid rue
Because
I'm just glad to see you alive.
“Now
we can strive together to drive
The
serpent's forces from our land.”
“I'll
shake your hand but won't command
your
army,” replied Osmond. “Alone.
“I
fight. You've grown and have the throne,
But
I'm supposed to save the world.”
Eyebrow's
curled, his brother hurled:
“You're
a fool to think you'll win on your own.”
Now
with a moan, “It's too late to atone
For
ignoring all the signs.
I
feel Death's binds as he confines
My
life to failure for missing my time.”
A
voice-like chime then sings: “No crime
Have
you committed. You were afraid
And
thus strayed only to be betrayed
By
your own choices, but it's not too late.
“Lives
still wait to be saved from the great krait.
Don't
give up, don't go alone, and you won't lose.”
So
sang the Muse, and at this news
Osmond
stood, armless shoulder still dripping blood.
He
stumbled through mud, water falling 'n a flood,
And
he blocked out every thought but one:
“You're
not done, and he hasn't won.”
With
killing wounds, he herds others to follow.
The
pain they swallow, his thought their motto.
And
so they travel all night and day.
All
the way they don't talk but pray,
And
make it to the house of Osmond Frost.
Though
having lost the battle, as they crossed
The
threshold, they were safe. Home refreshes them.
He
reveals to them his name. None condemn.
Instead
they encourage him to keep fighting.
Their
inviting is exciting,
And
soon they set out again.
Only
simple men lead by an amen
To
fight a seven thousand year old snake.
By
a dead lake sits the fire drake,
Waiting,
watching, and laughing inside.
Dead
bones lay dried out and fried,
Reminding
of those who failed before.
With
the snake's roar, fear bore
Into
each and every man's soul.
“If
your goal is to be eaten whole,
You're
well on your way. You're alone. Flee!”
All
but three fled at the decree,
But
Osmond knew what needed to be said:
“I
will behead you, and on your body tread.
We're
not alone, so I don't fear you!”
At
this the snake flew into a rage and threw
A
jet of flame at the defender,
But
a splendor surrounds 'n the flames surrender.
“I
am Frost, Osmond Frost. Glaurung, what now?”
The
serpent's brow furrowed. “But how?”
Osmond
smiled. “Simply this: I'm not yours.”
No
number of wars could've reached the core
Of
the creature as did that declaration.
Its
frustration died with realization
And
the dragon fled with a cry:
“I
fly, but will return before you die!”
The
reply: “We'll be ready.”
Remaining
steady to their word was already
Hard
a year later when they were at rest.
But
that's the test, so do your best
To
remember the epic of Osmond Frost.
