The walls were built strong, enchantments woven into every stone.
Here it stops the dwarves promised, together they made their stand.
On scaled legs the destroyers came, the ancient and relentless foe.
The battle raged and the wall held firm, a grim stalemate.
From the heights came the first, the mother of them all.
Fire blossomed and talons raked, but still her children died.
In sorrow she dove, eldritch powers against the wall’s might.
With a crack and a roar the hope of man fell, a queen sacrificed.
The horde unleashed and unbound, the age of man ended.
I figured crickets dying were too depressing, so here is a poem to honor the fall of the nations of man. Dragons are always breaking stuff.