In Avatars Carnage, this Thursday night past
The warrior CalmWind, he fought to the last.
Each team had won two rounds, this fifth would decide
The victor of Carnage, for prizes and pride.

The two teams were well-matched, the red and the black,
Enraged from last round's loss, red fought to come back.
In Arctic Arena they fought 'midst the snow,
And black fighters, one by one, fell to their red foe.

At last it came down to but two left alive,
Wasabi and CalmWind -- black might yet survive.
Their chances were slight, just two of them there,
A dozen opponents encircling the pair.

Surrounded, outnumbered by fighters in red,
Attacked by the living, cheered on by the dead.
They slew one last red, then Wasabi was gone,
And CalmWind, the warrior, faced red all alone.

A rogue or a mage or a poet might try
To fight on alone, but brave warriors die
With no one to help them, and so CalmWind fell
Alone and unaided, in fires of Hell.

In Hellfire and Whirlwind, proud CalmWind then died,
With victory, the red team avenged wounded pride.
What should be remembered of that Carnage night:
For once 'twas a warrior who lived through the fight.