A choice is given to every man it seems.
A choice to rise.
A choice to flee.
Even a choice to bend the knee.
But my choice was taken from me,
on that long ago day beside the sea.
The final thrust of my enemy’s blade,
proved more than my body could take.
I blame my Thane,
but he did not strike the blow.
I blame my luck,
too fickle a thing to reliably flow.
I blame the gods,
but they are all dead, their souls lost below.
Without choice I make my way in this world.
Wondering if the god’s were alive,
would they notice me here below.
A lowly man with a limp and one arm.
Surely I could do no harm.
But the gods are dead,
and my luck is fled.
And I must suffer on till I find a place to rest my head.