We fought so hard. The Orc King fell.
We’d hoped his death would end the spell;
That those poor souls who’d been beguiled
Would, at long last, be reconciled.
We’d hoped they’d leave the battlefield,
Once his true nature was revealed.
We’d failed to see how deep it went:
Dark magic’s creeping discontent.
And still the dread cloud’s spreading on
Although the puppet king has gone.
Turns out the poison came, of course,
From many more than just one source.
And though I’m glad we won this fight;
I fear it’s but a brief respite.
We’ve yet to face our darkest hour.
We’ve not cut off the source of power.
Yet more Orc Lords are jockeying
For who might be the next Orc King.