As the Perils of Hell Pour Through

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a story poem that I've finished in a few nights. Its fantasy is quite possible to the everlasting battle between the living and the dead.

Submitted: August 19, 2017

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Submitted: August 19, 2017



As Hell through Heaven Pours through,

A knight of the Honor Guard stands on the privy view.

He sees no fight in its quarry,

The knight stands along past the bloody folly.

He sees a falcon traveling above, gliding on the wings of the smoke that was once youthful of doves.

The knight with the long sword stands high on the privy view, seeing the shadow of the falcon come through from the thrift of Hell that swallows ten thousand whole.

The knight is swift, the knight is cunning. The knight is far from abuse but in sight of the shunning.

He is the Honor Guard that sends the word when the falcon touches down on his glove, unfurling the note that is bound on his claw with gentle love of a bird that sees as far as the world a move over that the knight cannot.

He unfurls the note with tender grace, like a child with a Christmas present that is filled with haste.

The note reads as thus: “Send word on the night after the rains have fell. We will win the battle of the demons that are weakening so well.”

The Knight smiles on this as he purged a paper from the cannon that is upon his waist, writing the paper with a dried stencil, licking the paper with haste as he addressed the news to the king of the last living with taste of the stencil that is tasting so well upon the tiring battle between heaven and hell.

He curled the paper and sent it with the falcon that traveled south.

The Knight is courageous with spell, drinking to the bones of the damnable vampires that he had meant to many times to tell.

This is the one hundred and thirty first night as the rains have fell when the Knight gets drunk past the privy wall in the north.

He is the one on watch after all with no one on the privy wall as his sword gets weepy from the killing that it knows so well.

The Knight Misses his sweet Josephina that smells of lovely tranquil in the peace of the valley that the Knight has stories that he knows so well.

Will he tell, the hour grows late of the night that is another in quell.

He sleeps softly this night.

On the day of the hundred and thirty second, the sword that is sheathed is idled with his right hand resting on the hilt of it.

He waited for the second falcon to show with his body aching from the lack of exercise that he wanly shows.

The day is long and the solitude eats away at his mental restitutions with his stones that are plenty on the wall, the wall of Ol’ Dim that has been here three thousand years or more when the valleys are green and the fields are plentiful or more where there is no war past the bottled shore.

The Knight sees what he is looking for when the falcon comes forth from the skies that is gentle for more.

The falcon clenches on his forearm with rest, pulling the note from the rest of something that is drying on his claws. The Knight does not know what it is when he reads the note with impress of the war that is past the wall of Ol’ Dim with unrest:

“Send forth reinforcements of 3,000 more. We will need them on the tomorrow after the sands have blown.”

The Knight makes his note and sends the falcon south as the other falcon came later in the day of the one that he sent before:

“This news is charitable for the enlightened crown. We will me merry and found with the world that will grow longer with time that is plentiful in our bound.”

The Knight wished he didn’t hear the news from before when he kept the falcon for company on the night of the one hundred and thirty second.

He is alone, thinking of Josephina as he kept the falcon on its throes.

He kept the lantern next to him as the world turns more from the one hundred and thirty second to the one hundred and thirty third.

The lantern burns out on the morning after, casting a glow in the east distance with the thralls of laughter that spells disaster for the Knight when he woke up with the falcon that is nowhere to be found.

He wonders where the falcon is found as the Knight is resourceful with his movements utter still.

“Where is the wall of berth with the sword that is fast as iron that is purged?” The laugh stopped and the voice is quick as a hurricane.

The Knight will not tremble, the Knight is swift, and the Knight killed thousands with the wits that is commenced.

The Knight stood up from the coverlets of the wall, brandishing his sword on the red day that is leaving the world from the moment he once saw.

“Who sent you, servant of the dark? Is it a trick at last or is it a cause that you embark?”

“Noir I, sad face on that wall that kept us apart for many of years before I came forth on the world that is cold as the nights on the desert walk, pertinent to the chains of ‘Them’ that I embark from to heed warning.”

“What is the word and don’t be cantankerous. I will know if you words part two tongues with my weapon that is beamed in blood from the time since long past.”

The servant of the dark dropped his water skins from his shoulders with his arms wide open.

He shows no dirk, no dagger, no sword, and no long sword that is under his hide skins that is made from perished animals that is death to their kin.

“I have no trick followed here, watcher on the wall of Ol’ Dim of shadows clear.”

The Knight stood for the longest time before he vanished from the light that is coming over the wall.

The servant poured the sweat from his head before beseeching from the wall.

In the moments that past, both Knight and the servant of the dark stood behind the coverlet of the wall with both meals at the ready.

The meals are so few in the languished lands with the kingdom past the sands in length of forty miles.

The falcon he sent to the field should be in its weight of the captain that is proclaimed to have bested the battle.

It is only a matter of time if the servant of the dark speaks true.

“How did you rove past the tents with the golden colored tips on their brim?”

The Knight confided with energy that he knew that was not there before.

“The tents are less appealed to the garrison that is getting smaller by the light of the day.”

The Knight dropped the sop of bread that is sitting within his hand, grabbing the servant with the mark of Night Death that is on his Adam’s apple that is bobbing up and down furiously.

“You lie of foul content, pestilent filth!

“You have spies in the garrison, I knew and I believe it cannot be so!”

The servant of the dark looked at the callused hands that are collaring him.

“These hands have seen a lot of war, sire.”

“Shut up or I’ll send the king back your head with that tarnished taboo that is upon your neck!”

“Not need to be bosh.

“I only come for a counsel with the man that only has the world on his fingertips.

“You do have that opportunity to make peace with the kind that he fed me royally so.”

The Knight kept him collared for the longest moment before releasing him, wiping the filth from his callused hands that smells of urine and excrement.

“What have you to offer, scum?”

The servant backed forth against the wall, keeping away from the reaches of the knight that is hunkering but still waiting for him to push him over the wall on a fall that ends his existence and all.

“The fangs have great folly indeed, ravishing the lands of the living that is past your breed.

“They are a horrible sight with years past neutrality of natural life.”

“What is the question that is not answered yet?”

“The question is this?

“The war that you think you won is sabotaged as thus.”

The Knight sat there, not making a move with his eyes steeled in ivory and his memory far from anger.

Anger makes him hesitant, stupid, and desolate for the fate that will seal him close to his death.

“What is this farce that you stake, servant?”

The servant sets the plate of grace and clasps the paper that is within his mace.

The Knight grabs it from his reach and unfolds the letter with his speech unperturbed, reading the words that are worded in cursive with the anger growing within him now.

These are the words that are written in sow:

“Good greeting sir,

“I seem you are getting weary on the step you once call the first battle in the upbringing of the slavery of our two worlds.

“Don’t be frightened with the scenes I’m about to dispose of you.

“You are in the cause of such great misery that will be befallen among you.

“You are in a place that you cannot go in the last final hours when we will come.

“What kind of journey will end for you? I suppose.

“The strife that has gone on for weeks will make you tremble when I adhere to the news that your brothers have fallen on the night that is their last.

“The news has been lied to for the past week while the falcons rove high over the wall.

“You think that I’m lying?

“The servant that is with you goes by the name of Lancel Trudell from the front battlement of the Welsh Campaign.

- The knight looks at the servant of the dark with his face still plain –

“He is a coward that is plucked from the ground like a blood diamond that is before you now.

“Do you see, do you believe?

“I will send you another letter in due time.

“Just send the falcon and I will send you another letter.

“You can dispose of the cretin any which way you like.

“With best service, - The Valiant King of the Night Fang”

The Knight disposed the letter on the ground.

“Such words in care for the fangs that is aware.”

The servant grabbed the plate that is upon the ground and finished his ration.

“What do they call you now?

“What is your name from before?”

“My name is Peraxies. The name that they called me from before is Lancel Trudell.”

The Knight nodded his head and continued his meal in silence, looking at the servant ever so cautiously when the servant finished his meal.

“Is your meal satisfied?”

The servant nodded his head.

“Can you do something for me?

“Can you check on that glint that is within the sand in the distance?”

The Knight met him on the wall that is facing north, standing beside him with his guard down.

“Do you see the glint in the sand?

“Over there?”

The servant continued to look in the distance with his eyes in slits.

“I do see it?”


The Knight is quick and the Knight is fast, pulling and throwing the servant over the wall that is high as six stories with the servant screaming down to his death.

“The glint,” The Knight continued.

“Is the shield of where Tánaistí have fallen?”

The Knight started to cry with the tears that are burning within his eyes.

This is the end of the one hundred and thirty third day.

That night, the falcon fell upon the roost that is sitting on the wall as the Knight slept.

The disturbance in his sleep is none still when the night ambles on in cold with the Knight dreaming of Josephina; sweet, sweet Josephina.

When he awoke on the day of the one hundred and thirty forth, he sees a horse that has hooved up to the wall.

He looked over the coverlet of the wall, seeing what is known to the call, pulling his sword while watching the sands of the north landscape for any trickery that is not seen to his eyes.

He departed from the wall with the falcon perched on the roost, waiting to take flight to see if there is a rat scurrying about, looking for a meal in the meager desert that holds nothing but bones.

He rumpled down the sands that are in front of the wall, coming up to the horse that bucked and brawled moments before when he placed his hands upon the reins, needing to horse to stop its quivering game.

What he saw in the saddle bag is hell more than fierce, reaching inside of it from the foils of blood that it is fierce, feeling the hair of the late Captain Clandor Eyeria that had fallen from battle that he was not there to vision and report back to the king.

The Knight quivered in fear, placing the Captains head back into the saddle bag, not needing to touch the head of the dead any more than what is most said.

The saddlebag is no more on the horse as he claimed it behind the wall with oats and water that he primed from the line that has been there longer than him.

He did a good deed today when he prepared a message for the dead by the name of The Valiant King of the Night Fang, sending the falcon north as he kept his hand upon the hilt of the blade, looking towards the west with his wits to none avail.

Night fell over the land with winds accompanied the lonely band.

The Knight waited upon the wall, sensing pain for missing his lady Josephina that is safe with no harm, looking at the stars that neared the end of one hundred and thirty fourth.

When he awoke, he felt the claws of a raven that is upon his coat.

Where did this raven come from, why is it here in the morning that is plentiful of clouds but so very queer.

The raven looked at him like a curious dog, about to die but never wrong.

He took the raven from his coat and pushed it away, where the raven stayed and never flew away.

“What is it, I see?

“A raven that is haunting the soldiers that won’t let me be.”

The Knight came down from the wall, feeling the humidity drop as he knew that the rains are coming for the land and all.

He went inside the wall, pestering the dust away that is upon it all.

A portrait sits on the only hook with the captains of old that the Knight cannot remember while this time is told.

The liquor that is upon the mantelpiece is scarred with age, turning alcohol into menagerie that is posted along the wall, casting old songs of the dead that the Knight can sometimes hear when he is ever so silent.

The cracks on the stone floor are soot with dust where many soldiers had ale that is newer than the liquor that is upon the mantelpiece.

The Knight is aware of the age that is upon the mantelpiece that has turned to poison on the mantelpiece that is scope high upon his weary head.

He waited for the rains to cease, for the world of natural tendency to be at peace as the Knight not to sleep when he knew that the fangs travel in the clouds that weep.

When the rains ceased, he thought crazily of his missing of Josephina when he cantered at the point of his boots, tending the need of the shine that it needs most to his boots that have treaded through the bleating of dying men that are upon many of many battlefields.

Where had the dead men gone? No one knows. Have they gone to heaven or were they infected in the reign of hell?

The Night Fang could be ever close?

They do not calm themselves by the fire of the night.

They do not need the warmth of the flames.

The Knight came out from inside the wall with his back feeling tight, wondering where the garrison of the 3,000 are at this time.

They do not travel their feet all at once.

They will not travel the desert in one swift stroke with their heart soaked in sweat that is met with the strain of the desert that wills the souls in the desert’s pocket.

The Knight stood at his post, the messenger between the two worlds between the living and the dead.

On this day of the one hundred and thirty fifth, he wondered about the raven that he woke up to as he stood on the wall, waiting for the call of the horn of the three thousand to mourn the might of the wall.

The Knight realized if he will be alive or dead in the days passing?

The Knight realized in dread for the bed that he will be sleeping on this night.

The Knight still slept sound still with the cheek of Josephina that he is kissing still.

When he awoke on the day of the one hundred and thirty sixth, he awoke to the fire that is glimpsed in the north of his naked eye.

“Is it the fire of treason?

“Is it the fire that is haunting my reason?

“Is the fire the fire of quake that will come for my fate to be forsaken?”

The Knight sees the fire that is all about in the desert, spanning areas that are sequential to the eyes that see with heed to where the course of the three thousand is now?

The Knight see the raven perched on the roost upon the wall, wondering why in the hell it is here as he waited for the falcon to come back from the north with the letter that he has written.

What does the raven want when it stared into its eyes, seeing the flecks of red that is masked with the dead when he knew what entails in its eyes?

He unsheathed the sword and pointed it at the raven.

The raven cawed with its feathers flared up, lashing the eyes of the human that has made a threat of its existence.

“Are you the wondering eye?

“Using you as a vessel that I despise?”

The raven still stood with its eyes of the dead still alive of the sword that it still abides.

“You are worshipped by the fiends that are not six feet in the ground.

“I cast you to the depths of fire from which you came.”

The Knight lashes out when the raven fluttered its wings.

The raven flew forth as fast as light, throwing its body against the Knight that is flinched in fright.

The Knight fought, the Knight quarreled, the Knight bucked and the Knight struck against the raven that is clawing his face, ripping his cheeks into blood warm paste.

The raven is fierce as the Knight grabbed his back, dropping the raven onto the ground with its boots thrusting on the raven that broke its back in two.

The raven croaked as the Knight raised the boot to the limit of the sky, bringing the boot down on the raven as he killed it for the crown and his sweet Josephina that is still upon the farm from where he left it.

There is nothing left to be said for the raven as he threw it over the wall for the other birds in its craven, picking the flesh clean off of its bones as the Knight wondered about the fires that are in the north.

Later that day when the sun crested from the east onto the west, the Knight is companied by the falcon that he sent from days before.

A message is on its claw when he waited for the moment of nothing more.

He finally grasped the courage to grab the note that is upon its claw, opening it with his eyes of moments of hope that he saw in the past, making the fill of it last as he read the note of the Valiant King of the Night Fang:

“There are no negotiations between our spaces.

“The war is coming where you will become just pale faces of our race to let us feed.

“I’ve come to like you Knight, for we will cling our swords in battle.

“Will you grace to tell me your name for sake to lay claim when the battle is over.

“I will know of this name when I will spare your life.

“Yours gracefully,

“The Valiant King of the Night Fang”

The Knight’s course of mercy did not work as he pestered the wound that is hurting ‘till it hurts.

The fires are coming; the fires are bold as he waited for the three thousand that will come any day now for the bells of hell to foretell as the battle of the Perils of Hell Pour through.

Sweet Josephina, if I survive through this, we will make a child together.

Sweet Josephina, for I hear the sound of your voice as I hear you sing before the war between the living and the dead will ensue.

For tonight on the one hundred and thirty sixth, the Knight will sleep soundly no more as he forges his blade to the sharpness that he adores.

He realized in the course that he sees the body of the traitor that is over the wall, bloated and dead from the wall when the Knight laughed as he bellowed the name of who he is past the wall.

“My name is Calmerona of the River Wing Lands, born into the seas and will in its might die on land.

“I will not be bartered with, stoned with, bludgeoned with, or quartered with until the time is past my hands.

“I will not tremble in the last moment of this world as I smile among death that will harm me no more.

“I will become the victor if I fall in the days coming for I will go home to my Josephina, alive or dead.

“I am a Knight, until the day I cast my mark from this earth.

“I am not scared of any fang that will come barking on this wall, for it will be human for many years after I fall.”

The Knight of the River Wing Lands drew his sword in the moonlight, seeing the steel dance on the blade that is light as a feather in the night.

The blade will be as black when the fangs come – for he will not tremble, for he will not wait, for he will kill for Heaven’s sake.

This is the last night of peace on the night of the one hundred and thirty sixth. Will the garrison come? The Knight will know in due time as the fangs come in the night.


© Copyright 2018 Adam Steele. All rights reserved.

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