The warrior's scion

2400 years ago
There ruled a warrior in the kingdom of Macedon cold and hard
Like the Northlands of Hellas from whence he was spawned
The sun was setting on the splendor of Athens in those days
And the valor of Sparta was falling into ruin
Holy War was the word on all lips
Like the lightning bolts of Zeus
Deadly and swift
They rode down the barbarians
Striking in the dead of night, clutching with talons of icy death
Macedonia's grief was thus sated with the invader's blood
But the warrior's most fierce attack on the scourge of Easterlings
Would not come from spear or sword
Rider by moonlight or
Victory pyre in the night - his loins would beget a son
The true hammer
" Hellenic revenge