The Iron Sun

Drag the iron sun from the mountain. Chain it hard behind the throne. Let it burn above the warpath till the blackened peaks are gold. Ten thousand wheels across the valley, axles screaming under flame. War drums carved from giant rib bones beat the riders into rage. Horns are sounding from the ridgeline. Stone gates buckle at the blast. Through the breach comes iron cavalry, red banners whipping at their backs. Ride! Ride the iron sun! Ride! Till the heavens come undone! Up the spine of Mount Varrakh, past the furnaces of kings, where the old gods hang in cages with their crowns nailed to their knees. At the summit waits the Warlord, forty feet of plated hide. He lifts the Hammer of the Ages. The whole damn mountain leans aside. Bring the chains! Bring the blade! Bring the heads of those who stayed! Let the war horns crack the sky! Tonight the gods learn how to die! Ride! Ride the iron sun! Ride! Till the final war is won! Higher! Higher! Drag that burning bastard higher! Ride the iron sun!