The Pale Ones



From foamy depths the pale flesh rises,

Striding for the shore.

From jagged maws they shriek and snarl.

Listen: Hear them roar.

They come afore,

They come again,

When time can never guess

But be they here

We all shall fear

No purpose is their quest

And if a man

Falls to their hands

Forget him, should his friends

To wound or ward

With spear or sword

Will never be their end

If them the Pale

You seek to kill

A plan you must devise;

To take their heads

Will make them dead

And blind their blood-black eyes.

- Niran, Chant of the Guardian

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