Gripkeep

: A long time ago :
: During a time once forgotten :

Surfing across it's metal, the fingers of the smith admired his own work.

A magnificent extension of one's arm this gleaming, overbearing cutlass shall make.

Swooshing to the end of the sheath, the smith sets his craft upon it's rack.

A plague of night begins to cover the sky,
beholding a flaming horizon.

Snapping at the wind, torches swiftly march towards the village.

A bloodshed erupted between love and hate, not missing a spot.

Swift were the razor sharp cuts the smith delivered, leaving a cold glow in his wake.

A tsunamic force from every direction, the village and the smith eventually fell.

Soon the cutlass became lost in the world, hiding from slaughter.

A new time shall come when this one is forgotten, beholding a new end.
 
Songs of the very blade and it's notorious master still ring through time.

A distance gleam of light will guide the way, the very day the beast shall awake.