Seven skulls sit side-by-side
atop the wall of Erringtide.
Their salted sockets watch the wide
expanse of waves within which hide
the devils Marax, sixes each
who’d seek to storm the sandy beach
and scale the ramparts, rent a breach,
the Prince of Erringtide to reach.
The skulls, they whistle low and still
with landborne winds across their sill
while readied for the war, they will
enjoy the breeze of peace until
their vigil finds the day has come
when they must raise their voices dumb
and all of Erringtide shall thrum
with bowstrings and the devil drum.
Keep watch, O heads of ancient lore
protect the Prince’s pristine shore.
The seas are near and ever more
would seek to wage a devil’s war.
Defend with all your ken of grave
the Prince to whom the old king gave
you charge. Now watch in every wave
from which will come the need to save.