From the tree whom ascends, so doth her birth descend From the sap of red, too, shall her tears have bled. Child born of brutes, with even deeper roots. For when her bloody tears flow, doth the raven so crow. For when her tears run dry, so forth corruption may die. Should their blood vanish, so shall her foes perish. From the grace of the seven, the old gods and the new. Her house as a haven, to monsters of man. Her stare as her sword, and her word her shield. Pay heed our squall, never shall her armies fall.
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