The Stoic paladin

Look forth at the battlefield
Bathed in the light of the sun
The paladin's white armor
Glistens

He's mounted
On a white steed
It too
 in glimmering white armor

His allies
Stand at his back
Prepared
Born prepared

The marauders
Stand in groups
Random assortments of
Lumbering behemoths

Chaotic screams
Belches and ramblings
Meet the ears
Of the stoic paladin

As he and his army
Stand in perfect line
Waiting for the battle cry
That will unleash
Their righteous fury

He brandishes his spear
Points forward
And bellows
"To arms fellows"

They charge

Streaking down
Across the plain
A shimmering violent
River of anger

The marauders
Little more than
Hermit crabs
gripping the earth in the current

The violence ends
As the last victim
Meets the tip
Of the paladins spear

The sun beats
Down on the area
Where twice the men
Previously stood

And a solemn smile
Appears
On the face
Of the stoic paladin