Such sorrow touched my soul,
I could not lift my head.
Never would I be whole.
My lady lay there dead.
What madness then was mine,
my mind cleft by despair.
I'd drink their blood like wine,
become their red nightmare.
I grasped my shattered sword.
I stumbled to my feet.
I faced the goblin lord
there laughing on her seat.
He swung his club at my advance
I ducked under its arc
and thence crouched low, I took my chance;
I sprung and hit my mark.
My broken sword entered his heart.
Shivered, the splinter stayed
while from the wound black blood did start.
In his spilt life I bathed.
Tale Told 