The Epic of Osmond Frost

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.