Riker the Great

The air is now thick with defeat, and ash
Clouds of smoke arise from the grass;
in a single day and night of despair
had the Earth opened up, with the wind in Her hair.
Her mouth did beckon to those weakened men;
the darkness she housed did coo from within:
“come taste my sweet safety, ye warriors of Fable,
and gamble therein, to feast at my table.”
No sooner had they gorged on slumber so sweet,
than—behold! The billows arose from the deep!
Her furies cracked open the floor of the cave
and swallowed them up, none the wiser or brave.
A quake so massive, it spit forth fire
The flames licked the air and climbed ever higher.
No man could escape Her wrath on this day;
for with one’s life is the cost of Her play.
Yet, what is this man that doth venture forth?
From the bowels of the cave, a figure from the North
Be he a man? Surely a god on a quest;
for the wrath of the Earth is no match for the less.
Her screams pierce the air and Her thunder gives way
to the chants from Above, for Riker! Riker! Riker the Great.