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When I was a thief,
I went to steal a jewel in the dead
of the night.
Inside the temple,
a sarcophagus sent by a wizard for
spite.

Inside, dreaming, but not dead, a
giant's serpent's body with a man's
awful head.
Thoth-Amon sent the spawn of Set, to
spew forth its venomous death.

Encased in its eldritch sleep until it
was freed by another thief.
It spoke in its ancient tongue, beckoning
me to come.
I strode forth gripping my sword. Its
head rolled upon the floor.

Aquilonian steel, it will decide the
fates of black wizards and tyrants
alike.
So send your soldiers to do their best,
while my weapons deal
out their slaughter and deaths.

When my foes, they rush upon me,
I see through a mist of red.
Then, I call out in the din of battle
"CROM, COUNT THE DEAD!"

A warrior horde converged upon me
to slay me in the night.
I was but one man,
but I met them armed and ready
to fight.

I struck a final blow -- broke my
sword to the hilt upon my foe.
An ancient battle axe,
hanging on the wall.
I tore it down,
and now they all would fall.

I heard my axe blade hum,
slaying it would sing.
I was a man before I was a king.

Aquilonian steel, it will decide the
fates of black wizards and tyrants
alike.
So send your soldiers to do their best,
while my weapons deal
out their slaughter and deaths.

When my foes, they rush upon me,
I see through a mist of red.
Then, I call out in the din of battle
"CROM, COUNT THE DEAD!"

Crom is my god, yet I walk alone.
He gave me strength
and steel to carry on.
His dark ilk care
not for mankind's fate.
All he left us was his rage and hate.

I have usurped a tyrant
of his crown and scepter,
and kingly power.
I have destroyed a sadistic wizard
in his jewel-encrusted,
gleaming tower.
I have ridden through the sky on a
bat-like thing -- descending upon my
enemies, the return of a king.
I don't remember
my past lives in full.
but I know I fought the Snake before,
when I was King Kull.

I chased a goddess across a frozen
wasteland of snow and ice.
She led me into a trap.
Her brothers would take my life.

One of them drew his sword,
to carve my heart for
Ymir's smoking board.

The ice giants, in their folly,
made a fatal mistake.
When they picked me
for their victim,
that was their last day.
One, I cut his throat, the other,
my sword went through his leg.
They lay there in the snow,
that is where they bled to death.

Aquilonian steel, it will decide the
fates of black wizards and tyrants
alike.
So send your soldiers to do their best,
while my weapons deal
out their slaughter and deaths.

When my foes, they rush upon me,
I see through a mist of red.
Then, I call out in the din of battle
"CROM, COUNT THE DEAD!"

Text přidal DevilDan

Video přidal DevilDan

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