On Vernics Hill, my feet were planted

on rocky ground, as gales a'chanted

beating loud in a thunderous prose

the cry of men as they prep for war.

My body went cold; my foot nearly slipped.

I shivered, face blanch, my hair being whipped.

I felt fear seep deep into my marrow;

like the poisonous tip of a truly shot arrow.

Then suddenly, there, upon my chest,

burned an emblem like a hex.

Tunic stripped, I bared my breast

with trembling hands, I probed in vex.

My fingers came away with blood,

shining crimson, as a flood.

I searched to know from whence it came;

but found no cause for such a pain.

Looking up, before me stood

a figure with a cone-shaped hood.

A hand came out from folds of cloth,

a silver ring on the finger, fourth.

The blackened drapes concealed the face,

the form, the figure and the race.

But the hand was svelte and pale in shade-

its color drained; its structure maimed.

The sky shone bright, with lightning, twice,

the emblem on my chest alight,

and three black diamonds-one, two, three-

did show themselves with fiendish glee.

And when the blood was wiped away,

a crest, complete, was there to stay.

Implanted, center, on my chest;

was this a mark of Gods' behest?

"Dear Sir," I asked; my voice was hoarse.

"Have I upset a god of Norse?"

He formed no word but with a nod,

invoked the cry of great Tiwaz.

"Please, sir," I said, "What have I done

that gods of war should rage and stun?"

The war, I knew, was sure to come;

The fault was mine; my legs fell numb.

I faltered. Knees fell to the rocks

as gavels on the judges' block.

My guilt declared, the mountain cracked.

These words closed the first of three acts:

"Your character is flawed; you desire the war,

rallying Hel like a bitter whore.

Your beauty has wasted, like a branch off its vine,

you sold yourself out for a droplet of wine.

And now this crest I marked you with,

will serve to prove I am more than myth.

No longer will you be disguised.

From heretofore, you will be despised.

You will try to pawn the fruits of your branch.

I will blind your investors; their interest I'll stanch."

Tumultuous terrors, like billowing clouds

draped me in black, like a funeral shroud.

The ground was soddened, drenched with the rain.

I kneeled deep in it and screamed out His name.