Choices had been made, and they could not be unmade. 

The arrogance and dishonesty of the shield maiden knew know bounds. 

She had made peace with the Mad Cleric of the South, 

Who had enslaved and betrayed her, 

And she had cast her lot in with the Western Horde, 

Enemy of all except itself. 

She would not make peace with the Grim Man, 

Who had striven to bring her an ode of reconciliation, 

For a falling out that bore no meaning. 

No, he, one whom she had wronged and wronged again, 

Raising conflict for nothing more than pride, 

She had made him her perpetual enemy, 

Unwilling to honor her faith and side with hi against the Horde, 

Or even to call truce. 

She believed advantage lay with their mutual enemy, 

Though she was wrong. 

So the lines had been drawn, and the Grim Man was force to declare her enemy, 

No matter where she ran, 

In a war that he did not start and did not want, 

A war she could have chosen to end at any time. 

But the shield maiden chose the darkness over the light, 

And the dirge sounded from the depths of hell. 

As the Grim Man , in sorrow, sought to lay waste to them all, 

A war that would never end, 

A war she had chosen in cowardice, 

And her god abandoned her as she abandoned her sense.