Realistic Fantasy, Page 2 Of 3 Poem by John Bliven Morin

And everywhere
The clash and clang,
As swords on shields
And bucklers rang.

Now spearless,
I drew my magic sword
I found last year
In a dragon’s hoard.

I broke their line,
Lept over the dead,
And charged great Kharsh,
Their leader, instead.

He didn’t retreat,
And with his guile,
Gave me a wicked,
Mocking smile.

We crashed together,
Shield to shield;
I knew this orc
Would never yield.

He swung and missed;
I swung and struck;
He fell; I thanked
My gods and luck!

And when Kharsh fell,
The others fled
To where such creatures
Make their bed.

Our cleric, Nang,
Healed injuries
With magic, quickly
And with ease.

We rolled the enemy
Bodies cold,
And stripped the orcs
Of all their gold.