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You will hear my commands when cries never fade!" |
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"I grasp my pole-ax in hand with stock, steel, and mace!" |
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"I clutch the soulless winds that stir the Ginder trees!" |
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"I extol beneath a wrathful, yet a constant lunar eye!" |
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The last clash will crown one son to the Pictish throne. |
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"My father's the king!" cries this tyrant, aimed for bloodshed. |
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Three flags will fly between the Esk and Dee rivers. |
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"The triumph's my king!" screams this baron son, devised for war. |
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Follow the tracks of this mailed horseman (geared with pole-ax in his hand). |
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The blades from Balkan Hills are sharpened (cut for slaying and whetted to fight). |
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The child has proven his gallantry (he shall not abuse Teutonic codes). |
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He's spiked and sent forth in a frenzy (their king sits at his table). |
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"Far free of these castle walls, I thought I heard your scream!" |
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This Is The Highland Tyrant Attack! |
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They eradicate the feeble by their Celtic law of tanistry. |
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Highland Tyrant Attack! |
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The rank of the cnihthad is the onslaught for their enemies. |
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Highland Tyrant Attack! |
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Garters on their left arms are fastened for chivalry. |
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Highland Tyrant Attack! |
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All of the vanquished battalions are thrown into the corries. |
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Highland Tyrant Attack! |
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They eradicate the feeble by their Celtic law of tanistry. |
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Highland Tyrant Attack! |
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The rank of the cnihthad is the onslaught for their enemies. |
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Highland Tyrant Attack! |
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"Our flags have soared O'er the Esk and Dee rivers!" |
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"We, the cnihts, are crowned for tier and not our lies!" |
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"Horse and Hattock took us back to the realm of Balkan Hills!" |
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"We, the cnihts, have formed the lines, before the rites!" |
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"We'el pursue to spit on their pledge and curse them, as the light breaks!" |
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"...But is our king still sitting at his table? |