Around the city, the pamphlets did appear again. By the Willow, by the Alms, and to the Oak by the entrance to the Slum. The writing was familiar, a poet's return, and the papers did write:
The Elven are stronger, perhaps stronger still?
Their forces, they render us weak,
By the word of one man,
Perhaps several,
I wouldn't know,
Over Twenty-thousand now lie dead.
Over twenty-thousand men and woman,
Over twenty-thousand sons and daughters,
What Spirit allows such slaughter?
For those that lie dead and broken,
For those that are now no more,
What is there to remember?
What is there to mourn?
For the corpses that got abandoned in battle,
For the ones that were burnt to the bone,
What Spirit would allow such slaughter?
The Spirit that was never true at all.
-Icarus Albatross
