| «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
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| 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?» |