Banish the King

The bread is bitter, and the wine like salty tears. Hope is like a wilted flower at the height of the day. The shadows of my enemies have grown and are blocking out the light of the sun. Foreboding clouds of doom hang over the Slave Pit as the Axe Lord sharpens his blade. Laughter has been banished like an unwanted king from this kingdom, as the quiet sets in to rule the land. Still the whips lash our backs. Still the grindstone moves. I wonder if one day it will grind our bones into the dust of the earth, and the memories of these warriors be naught.