- Their muscles are bands of iron,
- Their eyes are flames of pure rage,
- Their weapons are axes, ropes, and fists,
- The snow does not impede them,
- They thrive in the summer blaze,
- Fifty of them can make an army of two hundred quake in fear,
- Lions fear their roars,
- Tigers are jealous of their stripes,
- The still air cannot fathom their silence,
- And when they break their quiet,
- Their drums beat and beat and beat,
- Such is the song of their battle cry,
- Iron wills wielding iron weapons,
- The berserkers on the field
The Thrum
The In Constant Chronicles 