The snow falls down upon barren earth;
Where life is measured in winters endured.
Newborn naked babes born sturdy men,
Swathed in coarse leather, warmed by dirt hearth.
Steel... glinting, gleaming, flaring a wicked glare
In harsh orange forge fire. A misbegotten gift.
Divine knowledge forbidden to the race of men.
Great Riddle unchained by The People of the Bear.
Toil to exist; no yolk can bind such a savage soul.
Folk who live by superstition and razor edged sword.
To perish on embattled field; the legacy of men:
A barbaric task, burning passion, the noblest goal.
The primal mists of a former era quickly burn away;
Dawning disk of civilization rises. With sound aim,
Harsh rays of progress pierce the sides of lesser men.
The last free tribe, the people from the fog of grey.
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