Knights of Tezoth

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Happy Life

Count Orlov
Ambrose shouts at the top of his lungs, drowning out the din and clang of the melee:
-- Drive him off! Mock him!
Cowardly Orvald, Florensa's son,
He'd hide within a tower if he could,
But all he can do is cower in a corner!
- Brother, - Lester replies from the other end of the battlefield. - He is, after all, our colleague and a faithful defender of the Crown and our order. There are plenty of real scoundrels here whom we'd rather not see. At the very least, my lord employs no strange methods — surely, in your opinion, does he not deserve understanding for that alone? Such is his strategy, and such is how he envisions his victory in the contest — unpredictable as it may be, yet he gazes with a cool mind at the horizon he seeks to overcome. I understand perfectly well where this comes from, but I implore you: do not lose your temper, allow him and us to preserve our honor. We still have extremely serious contenders, and as for what comes next — fate will sort it out. War is a chaotic affair.

-- Worthy of praise is he
Who is ready both to strike and fall!
The only knight who pleases me
Is one who boldly on a spirited steed
Strives to be the first to receive
And to deliver many terrible blows,
And by his own example
He pours the oil of blood into the forge of battle,
And a mountain of fallen bodies rises,
Groaning in agony — such is a knight's lot!
I love chaos and rivers of blood!
This — these are the joys of war!
My soul rejoices when
Countless shattered bones lie
In a terrible heap of horse-men,
Then the feast is sweet to the eyes
At the sight of battle sketches,
When all eagerly rush into the thick of the fray
Rather than stand aside like little rats.
Our first task here is to multiply our glory,
And the second — to bring delight to our lady.
And both of these endeavors are doomed to fail
If we are poor in courage.

E si sui vius, er mi grans benananza,
e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers

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