Poems of Farland

Table of Contents

A'Legen O' Gagan MacMann Aurel's Gift
Awa', Orcs, Awa' The Ballad of Bartarius
Bard Songs to Inspire Courage Bard Songs for Inspiration
Carve for Me a Rock The Dark Conquest
Dragonspur Drinking Song Dwarven Burial Song
Dwarven Religious Song Elven Song of Departure
Elven Song of Longing The Fatal Fight
The Far City Kassa Sailor's Lament
Lament of Ingwë and Valanduil Lay of Talkana Silumiel
Ode to Great Stor-gris On the Lonely Sea
Orcish War Chant Salazar
Silver and Tin Towers of Night
Western Funeral Poem of Kantor

The Lay of Talkana Silumiel

In Alustel there lived of old
Beneath the boughs awash with light
An Elven maid with hair of gold
Where stars shone day and night.

No beauty grander ever graced
The lissome form of elf or man.
The good reflected in her face
She spread throughout the land.

The daughter of Balanuil
Wise patron of Al-Dustriel
Elfhouses great and greater still
T'were none in Alustel.

Talkana they called her on sight,
The fairest Daughter of the Moon,
For in her eyes, both clear and bright
Grey magic sang in tune.

Capacity of priest and mage
And loving heart of Elven maid
She traveled long in role of sage
From Sarumvest she strayed.

Of Elves, the wordsmiths, great was she,
Of dweomer magic greater still
And wandering, light-limbed and free
She taught them both with skill.

To beast and tree and delving dwarf
With lithe, quick step and watchful eye
The Elhil learning she brought forth
All learned it that would try.

Because goodwill she always sought
To Liferock cold she learning bore
With tongue of gold full well she wrought
'Tween dwarf and elf rapport.

But fades the summer, comes the fall
And Elven lands will wear away
And cold will grow both hearth and hall
For nature's law's decay.

From Elven ken Talkana passed
Though loved they fierce the Elven maid
They searched strange lands both cold and vast
But then returned to glade.

Now light shines pale in Alustel
And sorrow marks the Sarumvest
Where Talkana's graceful feet once fell
But nevermore shall rest.

For fades the summer from glade and vale
And Elven lands are brown and sere
As ever colder grows the trail
Of Moondaughter who disappeared.

by Galdin Palantar the bard, written in the year 9000 Elhil Reckoning

Listen to the "Lay of Talkana Silumiel" set to music, by Michael Hahn.

An Old Dragonspur Drinking Song

Raise your cup and drink it down
For the fire's warmth is good
Here we sit in this grand old town
And sing as we know we should.

For the folk of the East they act so proud
Smart Kelerites will steer clear
And the hammer of dwarf is way too loud
When you've had your share of beer.

So raise your glass of ale so pure
And say a toast to the crown
For we're the men of Dragonspur
So buy us another round!

The men of Kale all tell lies
But their women aren't so bad
So we'll met them out 'neath starry skies
And make them very glad!

So raise your glass of ale so pure
And say a toast to the crown
We're the fighting men of the Spur
So buy us another round!

Zeland and Orland can go to hell
Unless they've got wine to share
And Farland's mighty, which is good and well
As long as they stay way over there.

So raise your glass of ale so pure
And say a toast to the crown
For we're the men of Dragonspur
So buy us another round!

Elven lands are vast and wide
We hear they dance from glade to glade
But all that prancing we can't abide
It's too frivolous I'm afraid.

So raise your glass of ale so pure
And say a toast to the crown
For we're the men of Dragonspur
So buy us another round!

An Elven Song of Longing

Gold are the Beeches in Ardaranel
The summers there bring joy to me
The leaves in autumn too glorious to tell
But ever my thoughts seek the sea.

Even now it calls with perpetual voice.
Farther I drift from grass and tree,
The Doom of elves, the age-old choice:
Stay or sail to Faerie.

The memory of stars upon the sea
The ancient folk cannot suppress.
It sings to me of High Faerie,
The Havens where my heart doth rest.

For sun and grass and forest glade
Long have been my heart's content,
But all these lands grow pale and fade
As elves sing their sad lament.

For the thought of stars upon the sea
I am unable to suppress.
It speaks to me of Fair Faerie.
The Havens where my heart doth rest.

Listen to "An Elven Song of Longing" set to music, by Michael Hahn.

An Orcish War Chant

Onward, dogs, to strife, to war
Whips at back drive feet that's sore
With gnash of tusk and fire that's red
No resting now unless you're dead.

Gralar! Gralay! With blood and clash of steel!
Yahoy! Yahay! We fight for our next meal!
No pause, no cease, no give or retreat
Fight on in cold or wretched heat!

They tell us fight for Hoth and Hai
I say be damned until you die
No light no water for another day
Who needs that claptrap anyway?

Broken tusk and aching back
We battle now, cities to sack
Then we crawl back to the pit
Your doom now in blood is writ!

Onward, dogs, to strife, to war
Whips at back drive feet thats sore
With gnash of fang and fire that's red
Life is pain and then you're dead!

Gralay! Gralar! Yahay! Yahar!

Listen to "An Orcish War Chant" set to music, by Michael Hahn of Mom Fears My Music.

Awa', Orcs, Awa'

Our hearths flourish'd hot and bright,
And bonnie shone our jewels,
But orcs cam like an avalanche,
An collapsed a' oor tunnels.

Awa, orcs, awa!
Awa, orcs, awa!
Ye're but a pack o dirty beasts,
Ye'll do nae guid at a'.

Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust,
May Khuldul blin' them wi the stoure o't,
An write their names in his just beuk,
Which th' orcs hae no power o't!

Awa, orcs, awa!
Awa, orcs, awa!
Ye're but a pack o dirty beasts,
Ye'll do nae guid at a'.

Our sad decay in Khazak lands,
Surpasses my descriving,
The orc cam o'er us for a curse,
An we hae done wi thriving.

Awa, orcs, awa!
Awa, orcs, awa!
Ye're but a pack o dirty beasts,
Ye'll do nae guid at a'.

Grim Vengeance lang has taen a nap,
But we may see him waukin,
Khuldul grant the day when orcish heids,
Are hunted like a maukin!

Adapted by R. Dillaway from
Burn's "Awa', Whigs, Awa'"

Listen to "Awa', Orcs, Awa'" set to music, by Michael Hahn.

A Dwarven Burial Song

The night is black, the sky is blotted out, we have left the holds of our fathers,
And Tili has returned to the Maker. The light becomes dark,
The night and again night, the day with sorrow tomorrow
For Tili has returned to the Maker.

The Old Ones have passed away, their homes are the stones far off, below,
Their spirits are laboring free. Where are their spirits laboring?
Only the rocks know, or the passing wind.
And Tili has returned to the Maker.

Are they below, the Old Ones? Are they here?
Do they labor warm by his forge, do they see our offering?
Tomorrow is naked and empty, for Tili has gone
He is no longer seated with us at our fire.

Dwarven Religious Song

King under Mountain
King of Kings
From the depth of stone we call

Heed our song
Fill our hearts
In the name of Walin Greatfather we call

Speed our hammers
Guide our axes
As from the dusty plains we call

For ahead is the test
Plentiful times are past
In the name of Walin Greatfather we call.

The Ballad of Bartarius

To save the 'Spur the heroes set out.
Bellicose Bartarius the captaincy caught,
Redoubtable Ragnor at this was irate,
But submitted his services to succor the group.
Malevolent Malcall, matchless in might,
Seeking naught but war and weary of town,
Assayed to aid the associates as well.
Fearful Fundin the dwarf made up a fourth.
Thus complete, the companions, a wyrm to confront,
Left the luxury of town for the lawless waste.

The wheel of fate whirls along its endless way,
The good gods themselves guide the hero's blade,
But the path is protracted and perplexes the soul
Will the sword-arm shake opposed with the shadow?

Evil assays soon enough to end the journey:
A plot of penumbrus peril with power demonic
Conspires to conquer the contiguous kingdom.
The heroes harry the beast to its hideout
But brave Bartarius flees; a cunning contrivance he plans.
Of course Outelion only returns when danger is over.
Baron Oliver is freed from bondage to the base demon
And the companions construct a friendship 'tween kingdoms.
For Grand Oliver is grateful to the glorious group.
With farewells, they set off, the fearsome dragon to find.

The wheel of fate whirls along its weary way,
The true gods test the heroes' tremendous heart,
The warrior must search to the depths of the soul
But the course and its conclusion are still in question.

Brave Bartarius leads the group through the badlands,
Ever Outelion makes the group endure
And he bears the greatest brunt of the battles on his back.
Perhaps marauding Malcall and the others help much.
Dark and dire dangers do not deter the heroes,
Hateful harpies and awful orcs attack the group
But always-awesome Bartarius and radiant Ragnor prevail.
Enemy baronies, cold with evil, exert a terrible force
But fearing Fundin and matchless Malcall press on.
For brooding Bartarius buttresses the group.

The lamentations of life are wailed limitlessly
But the gods do not grant respite nor guidance.
The warrior is always alone in the awful storm,
And the worst comes inexorably on its evil way.

Now in the Naeb Brakes, the group knows to beware
For a wretched wyrm of great might waits.
They fight their way into the fiercely guarded fortress:
The minions of Afej the malicious prowl with missiles.
I can prove this for I was present at the evil place.
Though these beasts are brutal, the battle is won.
The dragon next to be destroyed, yet this is no easy death.
Its jaws are clashing doom and its breath limitless lightening.
It reared, relentless in its rage, and breathed a raging bolt
Outelion was gravely hurt. Is this the end of his hostility?

Spells subtly ensorcell and Death awaits to descend
With each hero hurt near to the limits of tolerable harm.
But axe, dweomer, and brand blaze to fell the behemoth.
And only the gleam of gold awaits for the heroes to garner.

But great is the power of gold guarded by a dragon,
And from sheathed blade to ignoble bloodshed they turned:
Slain were many men who were merely innocent.
I was there and thus can tell it truly to thee.
With Bartarius near breaking we heard, "I'll go back to Woodtown!"
Yet the group forever presses forward in hopes of saving the Spur,
For brave Bartarius, belying his doubts, leads the beleaguered.
The coins come to the Spur and are counted in time.
Thus the heroes win and battle-hardened Bartarius is knighted
They are legends yet they are left with only the questions and the quests.

I, Tancred the Bard, wrote this
8170 F.R.

The Dark Conquest

The wind blows cold on brake and heath
The weeping willows cry
The mountains dark are jagged teeth
Against a leaden sky.

So suddenly the blow it fell
That none could it resist
Cold lands soon found themselves in hell
With blow of icy fist.

The armies marched to war in vain
Just when the bell had tolled
For all they met was death and pain
Forever after cold.

From far across the Mts. of Or the ice-cold hand had reached
Cruel uncaring gods looked down and could not be beseeched.
Shadow dark like smoke and gloom then spread across the land.
No place is there, though dark or fair, that did not feel the hand.

The brave and noble lords of old
Too fell to flame and blade
And pestilence unclean took hold
With works of good unmade.

The creeping mists and hand of doom
Had laid it all to waste.
The darkest end like closing tomb
When free men were debased.

For yet the clouds of stormy war
Upon the vistas loom.
And known it is on farthest shore
That men now face their doom.

The might and mien of kingdoms gone cannot the vale forfend
For trees that brave the storm and wind are doomed to break and bend.
Now hope and joy lies underfoot, both trodden in the soil.
And lives of men forever more hold naught but pain and toil.

I, Tancred the Bard, wrote this
8168 F.R.

Aurel's Gift

A strong, proud man did fall that day
His death was not in vain.
Although his passing saved their lives
His men's good hearts were pained.

A cold fall morn was seen that day
A death it might foretell.
The captain's men's morale was high
Ahead what gaped was hell.

In chaos battle fierce was joined
Black arrows stained the sky.
Some life was lost; indeed too much
Too many wives would cry.

The tide of war began to turn
Against the Captain's men.
Each one began to pray to gods
To see sweet Kale again.

The captain ordered a retreat
The foe was pressing strong.
The men were cut down right and left,
Withdraw went sadly wrong.

The captain took up his yew bow
And made a final stand.
By beating back the enemy
His men could gain their land.

No more of him was seen that day
Nor any day since then.
His precious life he traded for
The lives of his good men.

By Guisson the Poet, written after the invasion of Kale by the Far Empire.

Western Funeral Prayer of Kantor

Oh god of sea, we pray you hear on high:
To strife and pain this man of war was born,
Now sword is broke and bent, and clove is horn;
Receive him in the ocean of the sky.
Pray grant to him the rest his shade doth need,
Admit him to the holy isle we plead.
In strength he fought, at last in death is free,
Pray grant some light to guide him 'cross the sea.
His work and pain he leaves at last behind.

Though seas of ours are rough with ill and woe,
And soon dark ship doth wait for us to go.
Pray grant to us his strength of soul and mind,
That when finally you call across the gale,
We have at last the will and heart to sail.

A traditional prayer said to Kantor upon the death of a warrior.

The Lament of Ingwë and Valanduil

Ingwë: Fi tralia (Here I bide).
The golden light calls
Elhil to their morning songs
But I do not sing.
Fi hosuria linen (Here I am silent).

Valanduil: Taria haron nenel (I seek far and wide).
Even in morning the shadow falls.
The time away is too long
My soul feels the sting
A lém lir rastël (And my heart is rent).

Ingwë: Fi tralia (Here I bide).
Midday holds no joy
For I do not hear your voice.
My heart is sunk in gloom
A fi hosuria linen (And here I am silent).

Valanduil: Taria haron nenel (I seek far and wide).
Day they seek to destroy.
Thus I have no choice,
For foretold was my doom.
A lém lir rastël (Yet my heart is rent).

Ingwë: Fi tralia (Here I bide).
As night falls swiftly,
I know I wait in vain,
For your task is impossible.
Hosuriatha arned linen (Forever I will be silent).

Valanduil: Ellen tiria haron nenel (Still I seek far and wide).
Darkness comes over me.
I travel long in pain.
From afar I feel your pull.
Lém lir arned rastiatha (Forever my heart will be rent).

Elven Song of Departure

We who are old, old and sad,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told:

Give to these mortals, heirs to the world,
A heart that's strong;
And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,
And the twilight's song:

We leave these lands, the shores of the world,
To rest far from men.
Is there another way, another way?
Tell us it then:

Us who are old, old and sad,
O so old!
Thousands of years, thousands of years,
If all were told.

Adapted by S. Baker from
W.B. Yeats' "A Faery Song"

The Fatal Fight

'Twas late in the sere season of summer
With wars fought and so wearily won,
When came the Eye of evil from the East.
With dreadful threat of deadly doom,
A command they decreed for capture
Of the Lord Bartarius. His brazen band
Would also be assailed if aught resisted.
Mayhap Naglor the Lord Mayor might
Even be assaulted ere the Eye departed.
These savages must be sought or the Spur falls.
This goal in mind the Lords prepare
With setting sun to seek their fate.
They are resigned without despair,
For judgement comes to small and great.

Bartarius clasped his bold and mighty blade,
The dread brand of the deceased Dakor,
Filigreed with fine detail, its fiery edge
Hade ne'er yet failed the Lord in fierce fight.
Resplendent in rare and rich harness of Wodene,
That ancient Anarian who attacked the Spur,
Outelion left his lodging, to go lead his men
To that preordained place of peril and death.
Bartarius would not flee from the fight
For his old fleeing days had passed.
With dying fall the sun did set
Into the west that fateful day,
Foreboding doom and deadly threat,
And yet there was no other way.

The brave band of Lords is bade to come,
And ever ardent they answer Outelion's call.
Who was in that war-tried troop of Lords?
Peerless Payn, the Lord Knight and protector
Of the city was there. His scimitar ever seeks
To strike the fell fiends that threaten his friends.
Matchless Malcall, sword-mighty and strong
Also swore to win or fall facing his evil foes.
Tharivol the cleric came to support the companions.
Last was Valanduil, wise wizard and Elven-immortal.
All hope upon the Lords does rest,
No others can resist the Eye.
Yet this might be the fatal test,
And doom for some at last is nigh.

The troop recalls another time they traveled
To seek a great wyrm's gold to guard the Spur.
That journey was deadly, but gems and jewels
Were won and none fell, though they took wounds
That threatened to end the tale of their lives.
Yet they lived, but this time the threat is worse.
Their hearts, though, are steel and fire, their blades
Sharp to match the might and mettle of their spirits.
Mounting steeds as swift as wind, they set off,
Riding like rain on the field or a rolling storm.
The fatal hour approaches fast
But warriors do not shirk their fate.
The days of yore long since are past
But heroes now prove just as great.

Soon arriving in Cambury with the sinking sun
The heroes halt and hail a figure that waits
Like a coiled snake with prey in its clammy clasp.
Immortal Valanduil valiantly defies the villain.
Khadufel, dark conjurer of the evil conclave,
Answers with fraud to fool his brave foes.
I hear his deceit fulfilled its foul effect:
Benighted Bolg-Gatha struck with his blade.
Venom dripped like dross from the demon's knife
And the baneful blow clove flesh and bone.
The knife from shadow flashed and gleamed
To bring Bartarius to noble end
In death his sins are all redeemed
His soul to god at last ascends.

Like lightening Malcall lethally strikes.
Bolg-Gatha, taken aback by his battle-rage,
Quickly flees the fight, although not forever.
He slinks into shadow to plot another strike.
Sir Payn is a whirlwind of flashing weapons,
Caught in combat with a crowd of foes,
And though damaged, he deals them death.
Valanduil bravely vies with the villainous mage,
Yet his weapon is worthless against the wizard;
Although steadfast of will, he is at last ensorcelled.
Soon night will fall upon the field,
And cast a shadow on their hearts,
And yet they swear to never yield,
Until the dark at last departs.

The wily wizard attacks with dweomers strong:
His evil spells strike down the sainted Tharivol.
He fell while valiantly defending his friends.
The women should weep and bewail his end,
And let them also mourn Lord Bartarius' loss.
Yet the evil enemy has not ended their attack.
But mighty Malcall and powerful Payn prove
Too much for their foes, and the threat is rebuked.
They defeat the foul Bolg-Gatha, felling him
With stalwart swords and strength of arm.
The Eye cannot their strength resist
And seek at last to 'scape the fight
But fail to flee the iron fist
Of holy wrath and righteous might.

The site of battle smokes and steams with blood
Freshly spilled, and the bodies of friend and foe
Both lie like carrion, killed in the heat of combat.
Yet the heroes hold the field, having driven off
The only enemies outstanding. Bauglar, an Orc,
And the baleful group's tracker, has turned tail.
Khadufel also absconded, but alas with the Elf:
His cunning compelled the captured immortal
To give himself to the grim and ghastly host,
One more casualty forfeited to the fatal fray.
The battle seems to have gone wrong,
Portentously the sun has set.
But god's control o'er death is strong
For hope is not lost even yet.

From the field, fearless Malcall bore his friends,
Maugre the danger from an onslaught of onrushing orcs.
In his prowess, Payn brought the body of Bolg-Gatha
To use in trade for the timeless Valanduil, enemy-held.
But the best tiding, I have heard told, is truly this:
Priests of Kantor, from beyond have beckoned Bartarius,
Lord of the City, to return to the land of the living.
With him is summoned the shade of Tharivol--oh miracle!
He who freed the forlorn Spur forsakes not the people,
And the Lord has sworn to liberate the luckless Elf.
It seems that when the tide has turned
And into death all hope has passed,
The light of day through clouds will burn,
The rays of dawn shall come at last.

I, Tancred the Bard, wrote this
8170 F.R.

Three Bard Songs to Inspire Courage

In the jaws of death with the red sun sinking
They faced the night, their swords unsheathing,
And shouted a challenge with voices ringing,
Then fought the battle, their courage unflagging,
And won the victory with a new sun rising.

Sunset and evening light
And the call of battle for me!
And if I am to die tonight
At least I will die free.

For with banner unfurled
We do deeds of fame!
And in the poets' songs I know
Forever will live my name!

It is deep within the crucible
That the metal of the sword is forged.
And in the heart of the tornado
Trees harden to the storm.

It's with wound and steaming blade
That great men grow from war,
And even in death they say
A terrible glory is born.

So draw blades with me, my friends,
Fear no doom at all.
Either the steel in our soul is smelted
Or in glorious death we fall!

Carve for Me a Rock

I want to build a hearth
A dwarfhold for my kin
I need your help, oh Khuldul,
I want to carve again.

I need a place of shelter
Beneath the skies of blue,
I need desire, oh Khuldul,
I want to carve for you.

I want to keep my children
Within your holy fount
I need the strength, Oh Khuldul,
I want to carve your mount.

I have to keep my wife
Safe in our own home
I need the will, Oh Khuldul,
I want to carve a dome.

I need to feed my hearthlings
And keep their bellies filled
I need knowledge, Oh Khuldul,
I want to carve the hill.

I need to build a door to you
And hold it with a lock
I can't do it without you,
Carve for Me a Rock.

Ode to Great Stor-gris

The cold sea roars loudly at the face of the bay;
The cliff hangs heavy over the sand;
The fog moves in and covers trees
Where the stone walls reach over the land.

The trees to the west hide my heart and soul,
As the grass and shrubs line the road;
And the soft, sweet earth buries all my hopes
Of loosening all of my load.

Now Karoxfang, my new-found liege,
Directs my work and my strength and my will;
And I build a mighty castle of stone
On the side of a wind-swept hill.

His might and power does extend,
To the prostrate and the poor;
And they praise his name and sing songs to him
In the swamps and in the moors.

His fortress, tall and large and strong,
Will defy all attempts at breach;
Founded on sweet rock and tamped hard earth
To all lands its long claws will reach.

From the corner of my eye I can see
Five towers straight and true;
The curved walls and parapets do hide
My heart, so tired and so blue.

As the setting sun does play its shadow
Of the hill of rocky spires;
On the walls that will hold out all who dare
To brave the Great One's fires.

As I, in the Keep, sit to the East,
'Neath the starry moonlit field;
I breath the acid smoke of the fires
And to my master my will I yield.

The sweet lime rock of the Western world
Keeps my love for you at bay;
As the foundation of my heart does ring
At the close of another day.

For the cave I dwell that is this keep
Though it saps my will to leave;
As the walls of life come crashing down
In my heart, I will always grieve.

And as I lie beneath the soil
And gaze up at mortar and stone;
I will see you again on the other side
And will ne'er again be alone.

To My Love, Tossa-- Agralin X

The Kassa Sailor's Lament - Traditional

The moon rises up in the sky
As the sun goes to sleep
And the sea laps aloud
On the white smooth sand
"EEE Hoomoo Oom Heek Hackaaaaa
EEE Heehee oooooo Pkktpt,
EEE Gkakpt r-r-rkk ooOOOTah
Mooktah NEEE rnrnt-t NihNih!!!"

The sad sailor unfurls his sails
And they catch the evening winds
The boat moves across the sea
As it carries him home
"EEE noopoo Gkakeek errr oooo Gkoopoo
Op ngooMOOT EEE ch-ch-ah ptptkak
EEE Gkooptpt r-r-rkk mooktah Gkakpt
OOm ngootAH-NEE Poopoot!!"

The day's catch of fish to eat
Has eluded his skillful grasp
And he has nothing to take
To his family but hunger and regrets
"NahRRR hhcht ngoomoot peepeek oom masteeka
EEE spkaaangootah ahrootp ngootahrr
EEE spkaaa oogootHEE
NahRRR eeeoootoot muhmuh oosteek ook hawwwt-t"

He steers his boat to the west
As it rocks and picks up speed
And he casts one more time
To pass the sad hours
"EEE oomoopt gkooptpt oom mak-k
r-r-rk jooteek r-r-rk kkka
EEE oolmooka hoh hoh
Nyeh-h loota noopa nyeh-hny"

As the sun disappears
Below the far-reaching sea
He feels a pull on his line,
The strongest he ever felt
"Nahrrr heemee nerwah ohrook ak-k-t
Kootmoo Meetzak Gkakpt oo-OO-A
EEE ih ak-k-t Oogoot peepee-r-nyah
Hchchc ak-p-p-r nyeh-oww"

He pulled with all his might
And fought the good fight
Into the night, by the moon
He pulled it to the boat
"EEE oogoot a-a-oowt ihih hchchc
Nahr doopock nerrnerrdoop
EEE oom ch-ch-ah goomook hoomoo
EEE oogoot peepeek oom Gkakpt"

He pounded his chest
And to Bestra he cried out,
"You have fed my family
By your good graces, I bow"
"EEE ih nr-r-oom ikmook
Nahr Ayee oom Bestra
EEE massa-k-k ak-k eeeootoot
MMM Doopock erktooma oom groka!"

He smiled and set sail
To his home he sped
And never forgot the god
Who fed his children that day
"MMM ih eenee a errr oooo Gkoopoo
Ih-poopoot Nerrwah-jootek
MMM Spkaeema a nyahkt
EEE massa-k-k ihih eeeoootook hhcht"

Listen to "The Kassa Sailor's Lament" set to music, by Michael Hahn.

A'Legen O' Gagan MacMann

T'was airly the yairs o' ole Creagish lands wha builds us a tayle r'two
O' a strappin' yung man o' Caisteal Gorm, from ole Buchanan brew;
The Buchs own'd 'eir land, as septs lived MacManns, an' payd in crops for Buch swords,
Twas the way o'the lives o'men an theyre wives; ye payd fer protection of Lords.

Pup Gagan was sired, brotha four o'the line, a'followin fine lasses three,
But a'runt o'the pack, a'ways stealin a snack, as 'e'd grow like a tall oakyn tree!
As Canna an' Alla, an' Ora the kid, 'is sistas teased Gagan enuf,
As a child did 'ey dress 'im in skirts so fine, bu' it served ta make 'im tough.

Nogar an' Nemal an' ta some extent, Ashe, cuffed aboot syblin' Gagan when yung,
Bu' when e' be growed, a new field 'e sowed, an' oot ta see new lands he rung;
'E alit ta the North, up Anaria way, as 'e 'eard o' the tayles o' theyre might,
With the storys a'told, aboot Draygons 'n Gold, 'n th' magic o' cold, dairk nights.

Bu 'e run far afowl wi' a great wing'ed beast, a draygon the name'o M'ole Oz,
What lizyrd lay'd death t'the folks o' ArBeth, a small farmin' town, for no cause.
'E dispatched th' great wyrm, bu' a little too firm, with brash an' bold terrible threats,
Causin' ire an' a pyre from the Sun God of fyre, an' a curse 'ed soon wysh ta forget.

Tanarys appear'd, with a fiery white beard, an' a-swirlin white head may'd o' smoke,
T'was th' las' thing ya see, ya'd expect there ta be, an wi' voice of vengynce 'e spoke;
Ya treated my child, alone in th' wyld, with respect less'n that of a fly!
'E meant ya no ill, just wanted 'is fill, bu' ya cairsed 'im an' spet in 'is eye!

Now 'e'll rest in a pyre, in a Hell, burned wi' fire, a'cairsed for 'is natural ways,
Whilst a murderin' man reaps the cheers that 'e can from the pestylant humans 'e saved!
Fair all o' your sins, you'll be farsed ta live in, the remains o' this town that ya kept,
An' as worth o' yair cryme, till the end of all tyme, you'll feel evry tear M'ole Oz wept!

Gagan spynt years, and as bad that 'e feared, in a ghost of a town in the vayle,
Er'y tyme he approached the limit of ghosts, a deathly ill pox turned'm payle.
So 'e stayed in ArBeth, with th' smell o' its death, and a carcass o'draygon uphill,
As remynder to Gagan o'a hapless young draygon, an' a mad gods powerful will.

So 'e slept an 'e ate, he learned 'ow ta hate, as 'e thot long'n 'ard boot his fate,
There were travlers still, who a'turned up quite ill, as they came to the town's rusty gate.
Then one day, a tall gent, stayed an' whyle, then went; since as syck as a dog 'e becayme,
But 'e wairned 'im o' daynger, an' things much straynger, puttin child horror stories ta shame.

Take caution an' cayre, above all bewayre, o' the scourge o'the orcs from Nor'east,
Acairvin' a path, wi' Blood Vengynce an' wrath, by the torches an' chants o' the beasts!
It was rond-a-boot tyme 'e collapsyd in mid-rhyme, but gud Gagan, 'e crossed the town lyne,
An' bravin disease drug the man to the trees, gayve'im rain water an' sat for a tyme.

The gent came aroon, shuk 'is ead wi' a swoon, an' continued his story anew;
A'fifty 'r more, mayb' a full four score, they rumbyl, I seen it, it's true!
A'fueled by theyre rage, as a'pent in a cage, they eat er'ything seen in theyre path,
Bu' theyre all soon a farse, shud ya wash clean yair arse, in th' childs life's sparkley bath!

The gent looked askanyce, in a deep, stolid trance, as ol'Gagan, afflictyd adeep,
Fed 'im more from is cup, 'ery last tiny drup, an' awoken 'im from 'is deep sleep;
'Tis one more little cayre, ya should be full awayre, shudya wysh ta remain to the tell,
Ya nede call ta yer clan, a'clad babe, nae aman, wi' yair breath a'tween Heavyn an 'Ell!

Is wairnyn now told, 'e turned ovyr an' rolled ta 'is feet he then clymed an 'e smyled,
Turned away an' did walk; nae, na once did 'e balk, an' neer did luk bak ta 'is child.
As he hastyned, did speed, 'gainst ol'Gagans dyre pleads, 'neath an aftnoons rayny skye red,
One cud see, if one tried, some white smoke in 'is eyes, and a wysp o' white clouds roond 'is 'ead.

Styll a'sick cross town lynes, 'e staggered an' whined, is confusyd an' ill Gagan MacMann,
When 'e met 'is own syde, 'e felt bettyr insyde, an' studyd wha' said by the man.
'Is clothin a'soiled, from the aftnoons toils, 'e decyded ta wash from the stream,
Tha' cold issued forth, from the ill'syde did course, 'neath a rottin' remayns of bad dreams.

It sparkyld abright, may'd 'im swoon in the light of the moon, as if Sullys cud see;
A fyre did course in 'is blood with such force as 'e drank from the flow so free.
'E clymed from the banks after two hearty dranks to the glimpse o' some torches afar,
A'shiverin cold from the threats that they told, an' the chyll o' the frigyd nyght air.

Runnyn bak ta the tent, so quickly he went, a'forgettin 'is clothes for a while,
Startyd gatherin' wood, the best that he could, put some herb and dry sod in a pyle,
An he thot in the dairk, as 'e lit up a spairk, that 'e needyd some warmth and some lyght,
Shud he need some defynce, an' he become entrynched, in one Holy Hell of a fyght!

Th' lyght showyd 'is sword, by 'is sharpenyn board, so 'e sat as the gents words rang clear,
An' scraypd on the steel, an' called to appeal, ta 'is seven old sibs, in 'is fear,
Fairst theyre names, then the sounds, then 'e sang 'em in rounds, and the fact he was bare as a child,
An 'e suckyd in the smoke o' the fyre, 'e chokyd, but 'is muscyles began to grow wyld.

Th' fyre an' smoke, bought the purplish folk, donnin' torchys an clubs as they screamed,
Bu' a nekked white child, wi' 'is eyes red an' wild, was a byt more strange than they dreamed,
'Is teeth wair agleamin', 'is eyes red an' steamin, foul cursys cayme utterin' forth,
An' afore cayme the sun, the carnage 's adone, an 'is sword eighty tymes found its worth!

Th' sairchers all say, ta this very same day, boot the pyle o'bleached bones in the sun,
Th' remaynes could've been from some demon o'wind, or a sykness tha' took its full run;
Bu' theyre stacked, 'eads in line wi' a carcyss so fine, of a byrd in the bed of a stream,
An' neer hyde, nor a'hair, o' McMann chyld so fair, can be found in the glimpse o' a dream.

By Creagish historian Malley O'Rule

Bard Songs for Inspiration

1. With back against the wall
And implement in hand,
We bellow out the warrior's call
To fight for King and land!

We deal death in spades
To any who offend,
With knife and bow and blade
Our world we will defend!

2. Come face us, ye cowards!
Come face us, ye fools!
And we'll bury you under the stones.
Come face us, ye tyrants!
Come face us, ye ghouls!
And under we'll bury your bones.

Come face us, ye trolls!
Come face us, ye giants!
For we've no fear of you.
Come face us, ye vampires!
Come face us, ye treants!
Our hearts are brave and true.

3. Over the sea I sail, carefree
Into the ships of the enemy.
Onto the land I crush every man
Who dares to hold sword in hand.
Under the sky I fight and I die
With my last words a battlecry!

Silver and Tin

Silver and tin,
Say the bells of Quentin's.

I see trouble afar,
Say the bells of Edgwar.

Din of drum and war horn,
Say the bells at Holborn.

To the Lords of Sin submit,
Say the bells at Hawsfit.

Or the fate of you and of me,
Say the bells of Westny.

Is dark conquest and death,
Says the bell at Maybreth.

Obey your dark master and work for your bread,
Lest the Lord of Lust chop off your head!
  Chip chop chip chop the last free man is dead.

"Silver and Tin" is a traditional Kelerite nursery rhyme which refers to the distinctive sound of the bells of several Dragonspur churches, all within earshot of Keler's Bridge in the city center.

The Far City

And dost thou seek Far City 'midst these hulks?
Vain is thy search-- the city is no more.
Her tower'ing Grandis Hill is freedom's tomb;
Her rod and crown lie broken at her door.
That house where Emper'rs dwelt in elder days,
Tenanted now by demon worse than death;
Her Munician Wall could not fence out the flame,
Nor legions win, though fought they to last breath.

Sendus alone recalls--its passing waves
That sang her praise now murmur by her grave,
With wistful voice lamenting current state.
The Far City! T'was never thought you'd fall,
That stood for oh so long and withstood all.
Oh, stands she still? Then that is cruelest fate.

Written sometime in the last century by an unknown Farlandish poet.

On the Lonely Sea

At the crack of dawn
We sail the Lonely Sea
From Goblin Bay to Wizard Isle
Merchant ships will flee
We carry on the pirate way
Across the Lonely Sea
Will we fear no privateer
No siren vexes we


At first light of dawn
We sail the Lonely Sea
From Zeel Flats to Porto Bay
We are truly free
At Self-haven we chart our course
And pay a small advance
For tomorrow we may meet our end
Tonight we drink and dance


by Michael Hahn
Listen to "On the Lonely Sea" set to music, by Michael Hahn.

Towers of Night

Dawn peeps over the highlands
On the grass graze flocks of sheep
But on the hills are towers.
And the shadows they cast are deep.

And those in the towers long for the night.
They lurk in the towers and wait for the night.
Deep inside the towers, where it is ever night.

Noon is bright on the highlands
Sheep bleat at the sun
But shadows of towers deepen
For soon the day is done.

And those in the towers long for the night.
They lurk in the towers and wait for the night.
Deep inside the towers, where it is ever night.

Dusk creeps over the highlands
The sheep they run for home
The last of the light is fading
Now the coming of the gloom.

And those in the towers long for the night.
They lurk in the towers and wait for the night.
Deep inside the towers, where it is ever night.

The highlands are drenched in darkness
The mores glimmer under moon
The stars are cold and distant
The morning does not come soon.

A cold dark rest for their final remains
A place on high for their bones washed by rains
The sins of their life will linger long after death
With the last hope
With a final breath.

And those in the towers rejoice at the night.
They emerge from the towers under cover of night.
And the highlands are theirs while it remains night.

This poem refer to the adventure "Towers of Night."

Listen to "Towers of night" set to music, by Michael Hahn.


Salazar was a sailing man
He sailed out from the western lands
He took to the sea to find his way
And make all the love that he can

Treasure is nice and riches are keen
But the touch of a lover is way more supreme
With years of practice under his belt
There's no one he cannot please

With Salazar none can compare
He fights and he can dance
No sailing mate nor maiden fair
Would shun his love's advance

Sirens may attempt to lure him
But his skills make them adore him
For pleasing them they let him go
So he may love again

His sea serpent will appear
And make the people woo and cheer
No wench, or seaman, can refuse
The tip of his mighty spear

With Salazar none can compare
He fights and he can dance
No sailing mate nor maiden fair
Would shun his love's advance

Oh, Salazar none can compare
He fights and he can dance
No sailing mate nor maiden fair
Would shun his love's advance

Listen to "Salazar" by Michael Hahn.