Orange Marrow
250+ Posts
Now one after one, there came the clansfolk,
burnt orange and white standards borne proudly
upon their breast-shields, their heart-plates,
and with many horns upon their splendant garments;
They braved the hellish sun-heat, the skin-witherer,
marched it slowly across the hazy sky road.
The one after one, there came the Longhorns,
battle-helmed in white, and armor-girthed,
the battle-bringers, the warrior-lords;
and mightily clashed they there on the grassy field,
the verdant battle ground, damp with dew and sweat.
Sinews straining, they set upon each other, grasping,
twisting, striking blow upon blow, drawing back,
glorious mock-war, honorable feint-combat;
the earth shook violently, the shaken foundation,
the broken firmament; thunder withdrew in fear,
lightning despaired, of such a tempest to behold.
Then came the Mack-king, the mantle-bearer,
the bringer of victory -- now there was a good coach.
He called his warriors, reigned their fury,
to him they rallied, warriors all, kinsmen, brothers;
they ceased their strife, withheld their blows,
that honorable band, youthful comrades,
thus did they pay homage to the keeper of honor,
the giver of laurels, the gracious host-provider.
Summoned unto him, they stood in silence,
the youthful cleat-wearers, the pigskin-bringers,
harkening to the call of their liege - now there was a good coach.
Earnestly they listened, and with joy,
kinsmen all of the mighty Mack-king,
the silver-speaker, the sideline-lord.
Mightily spoke the Mack-king, and wisely,
words of encouragement;
honor upon them he bestowed, and wisdom,
their weariness and pain thus lifting.
Then raised them, that happy clan, that noble band,
voices as of one, a loud cry, a joyous shout
of allegiance to the Mack-king - now there was a good coach.
With merriment they danced and yelled,
finger-taped ball hawks, war-painted line destroyers,
leaping as one to the cheerful war cry,
the beating battle-drum, loudly did it ring.
And thus sent he, the Mack-king, his youthful legion,
his Longhorn warriors, and bade them rest, and repose
and jubilantly they quit the field, victorious, rejoicing
to the king-hall to retire, the fabled warrior-house,
the bane of wight-agroids, the shame of fen-farmers,
Unceasing in its splendor, its grandness undiminished.
And then left the clansfolk, the happy cheer-bringers,
the sun-burned standard-bearers, the orange-clad tribe;
merry were they, glad was their departure,
secure in their happiness, enthusiasm their harbor,
enchanted with campaign-visions, game-oracles,
happy portents of victories yet to come,
singing the praises of the royal mantle-bearer,
the orange conqueror, the noble Mack-king –
now there was a good coach.
burnt orange and white standards borne proudly
upon their breast-shields, their heart-plates,
and with many horns upon their splendant garments;
They braved the hellish sun-heat, the skin-witherer,
marched it slowly across the hazy sky road.
The one after one, there came the Longhorns,
battle-helmed in white, and armor-girthed,
the battle-bringers, the warrior-lords;
and mightily clashed they there on the grassy field,
the verdant battle ground, damp with dew and sweat.
Sinews straining, they set upon each other, grasping,
twisting, striking blow upon blow, drawing back,
glorious mock-war, honorable feint-combat;
the earth shook violently, the shaken foundation,
the broken firmament; thunder withdrew in fear,
lightning despaired, of such a tempest to behold.
Then came the Mack-king, the mantle-bearer,
the bringer of victory -- now there was a good coach.
He called his warriors, reigned their fury,
to him they rallied, warriors all, kinsmen, brothers;
they ceased their strife, withheld their blows,
that honorable band, youthful comrades,
thus did they pay homage to the keeper of honor,
the giver of laurels, the gracious host-provider.
Summoned unto him, they stood in silence,
the youthful cleat-wearers, the pigskin-bringers,
harkening to the call of their liege - now there was a good coach.
Earnestly they listened, and with joy,
kinsmen all of the mighty Mack-king,
the silver-speaker, the sideline-lord.
Mightily spoke the Mack-king, and wisely,
words of encouragement;
honor upon them he bestowed, and wisdom,
their weariness and pain thus lifting.
Then raised them, that happy clan, that noble band,
voices as of one, a loud cry, a joyous shout
of allegiance to the Mack-king - now there was a good coach.
With merriment they danced and yelled,
finger-taped ball hawks, war-painted line destroyers,
leaping as one to the cheerful war cry,
the beating battle-drum, loudly did it ring.
And thus sent he, the Mack-king, his youthful legion,
his Longhorn warriors, and bade them rest, and repose
and jubilantly they quit the field, victorious, rejoicing
to the king-hall to retire, the fabled warrior-house,
the bane of wight-agroids, the shame of fen-farmers,
Unceasing in its splendor, its grandness undiminished.
And then left the clansfolk, the happy cheer-bringers,
the sun-burned standard-bearers, the orange-clad tribe;
merry were they, glad was their departure,
secure in their happiness, enthusiasm their harbor,
enchanted with campaign-visions, game-oracles,
happy portents of victories yet to come,
singing the praises of the royal mantle-bearer,
the orange conqueror, the noble Mack-king –
now there was a good coach.
