![]() ![]() Mighty Thu'um, like a blade, cut through enemies all,Īnd the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold Who was kin to both wyrm, and the races of man,Īnd the Voice, he did wield, on that glorious field Hearken now, sons of snow, to an age, long ago, And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout,
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