Original Submissions containing 'songs'
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Dreams of death for ever-more by Taven
Added on Jan 6, 2008Set during and shortly after the Gith War in Allanak , this gruesome story focuses on Private Karriv Amosson of the Arm of the Dragon and the horrors of war and death. Please note there are reoccurring and graphic depictions of violence. Constructive criticism welcome.
The eerie, haunting melody slipped out over the brown-splattered, corpse-strewn streets, seeming only to enhance the utter stillness. Slowly it drifted through the air, each word lingering the way the stench of death lingered, permeating the air.
“No thoughts of glo-ry, this is war,
Dreams of death for ever-more…”
The gaunt wisp of a girl threaded her way over the precarious, gruesome footing with ease, seeming the only thing alive in the nightmare around her. The city had elapsed into a shocked, numbed silence, the reeling of incomprehension before reality sinks in. All sounds save those of mindless reflex were crushed, gone before the weight of fatigue. Soon even the distantly heard clash of blades would cease, the sounds of a few stragglers in a war already over.
“Ba-the your sword in crim-son red,
Cele-brate the bodies dead.”
The gore surrounding the blood-drenched figure seemed like something out of a defiler’s wet dream. Scraps of burnt flesh were plastered to the wall of the building slumping behind him, clung to his armor and littered the road. Goblets of bloody hunks of tissue and ripped strands of twisted muscle were scattered along the road, kank-flies already beginning to buzz. The cold, unseeing eyes of monstrous gith and soldier alike leered from mangled and trampled corpses.
Karriv Amosson’s eyes could scarce be told apart. They too stared unblinkingly and unseeingly at nothing, unfocused and uncaring. The differences were subtle. These eyes still glistened, not yet drying out as so many others, and when a kank-fly approached to suck out the moisture, they would flicker in their numb stare with a single, reflexive blink. In his blood-caked, trembling arms was the body of a woman, her fingers still clutched around a jade-emblazoned, razor-edged sword.
“Dressed in jade, clad in black,
“‘Gainst the Highlord’s Arm none will take ‘Nak…”
The words echoed in Karriv’s thoughts, a spark of awareness in the vast dunes of numbness. “’Gainst the Highlord’s Arm none will take ‘Nak…” Bile rose in his throat, thick and acidic. He retched, splattering the remains of his last meal across the ground in heave after heave, until his retching came dry-- There was nothing left.
Her eyes sparkled as she smacked his head; with anger or amusement he couldn’t tell. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not ‘Yza’ and it’s not ‘Belle,’ it’s Yzabelle. You’d think you’d have it by now, you stupid lug”
He gave a wide grin. “Well, you know, yelling ‘Yza, Yza, Yzaaa! Ooo!’ isn’t near so fun to yell as ‘ Yzaaabelleee! Ooooo !’ in bed.”
Yzabelle smirked at him. “Been practicing on the whores again, Karriv? Or do you practice while playing with yourself, because you couldn’t even pay a whore to fuck you?”
He clutched his chest. “Ouch, you’ve a krathi-tounge. Ooooh, how it burns.”
Yzabelle rolled her eyes. “I’d say see a vivadu, but you’re already wet enough.”
“Good, then we can get to it!” He grins incorrigibly before pausing. “Seriously, Yza, why not? We’d both have a damn good time, you know that.”
She gave him a soft smile. “Because fun fucks come easy, and a man who is so persistent at making a fool of himself is a much rarer treat.”
He grumbled something unflattering under his breath.
“Besides, I’m not going to fuck a man just so he’ll get my name right.” She pressed two fingers to her lips, then pressed them to his cheek.
“Hey, love-kanks!” They both started, Yzabelle’s face a scowl as she prepared to vehemently object. “Save it. Serge is callin’ the unit together.”
The sergeant begin, and it was not long before Karriv interrupted. “How many fuckers?! Wigglin’ child of a rinthi necker-spawn!”
Yzabelle smirked. “Don’t worry Karriv, I won’t let the scary Gith get you.”
The memory dissipated, Karriv abruptly wrenched from it like a babe from the safety womb thrust into the cruel jowls of reality. Somewhere distant the high wail of a child split through the air, a jarring refrain.
“What’s wrong?”
Karriv started, sword reflexively up and point pressed to the speaker’s throat. It was just a child. Karriv forced tense muscles to relax, withdrawing his sword. Large blue eyes continued to look at him unblinkingly, and she spoke again in that same ethereal voice. “You won, you know.”
He tried to speak, but all that came out was a croak. The sharp tang of acid was still strong in his mouth, his throat felt as raw as the fleshless globs of oozing flesh scattered about. Karriv coughed, throat seared with pain. He took a long swig of water, cool, cold, refreshing-- And spit it out. The pungent smell of blood, sweat and the dead permeated everything. The girl only continued to watch him, cool eyes unwavering.
“Who- Who are you?”
“I’m only the first. There will be many songs to follow, for a victory so grand. The losses were acceptable, the foe vanquished.”
He blinked with incomprehension, and she turned to continue. The distant child’s wail finally died, and she continued the slow, floating melody.
“Bloody, shat-terred broken dreams,
Victorious tri-um-phant screams…”
------------------------------------------
“To the Highlord!” Karriv raised his glass to the toast, downing it in a single swallow. Five glasses later, he wasn’t even buzzed, much less drunk. He didn’t remember the last time he had gotten drunk. True, this was probably because afterwards he always awoke on the floor of the Gaj, knowing nothing save the intense pounding pain of a merciless hangover.
He filled the glass again, watching the Lord Templar Nariliek give out awards. He didn’t know the men and women up there; over half his unit was dead. Over half the unit. I’ve reduced them to nothing more then a statistic. Of course he had. Karriv wanted them to be a statistic, to have that distance from them. Because if they didn’t exist as more then numbers, then they weren’t gone. Then he wouldn’t feel this nameless, sinking all-consuming void within him. You want to forget. And that only inflamed the guilt. He couldn’t deny it, he wanted to forget everything that seared his heart so, and that in itself was a dagger plunging into him.
The drunkenness would have purged all of this. It made him numb, it made him not care, gave him the illusion of happiness and joy. And when he woke up, everything was all the darker, all the bleaker, making him crave the delusion of bliss all the more.
“Karriv!” He started as an elbow found his ribs. “The Lord Templar has called you twice already.” Nariliek’s hard eyes stared at him expectantly.
“Sorry, milord. Must’ve been a bit krath-struck,” he said, rising smoothly. Too smoothly for his lapse to be wine induced, the Lord Templar noted with a flicker of satisfaction.
“Private Karriv , your performance on the battle field was exceptional, a fine example for--”
Thrust, slash, parry, block. Too quick for conscious thought, weapon merely and extension of self, self a creature with only one goal: To kill. Complete and utter chaos. Something shoved something your way; you rammed your sword back in its face. Protect the soldiers on either side of you, hold the line. Anything else was death.
“Therefore, I present you with the jade cross, as well as--”
He slashed out, bone slashing across the jugular with a spray of warm blood spurting across his face. No time to wipe it away. He turned to block a blade aimed at his head, stumbling over a fallen body. No time to think. He smashed down a boot for better footing, crunching bone and mashing flesh, smashing the face beyond recognition. Merrik’s face. Merrik, oh Highlord, not Mer -- Block, parry, slash, dodge . No time to think. “Hold the line! I will fucking personally flay anyone who breaks. HOLD THE FUCKING LINE!” Roared a voice, as the hoard of Gith continued to come, as far as the eye can see, snarling with feral blood lusting eyes--
--The soldier beside him, arm brutally severed with a rush of crimson, endlessly spurting and the screaming, oh Highlord, the screaming-- “MEDIC! MEDIC FOR ASHIA!” He yelled, voice lost amidst the clash and clang of weaponry, the screams of the injured and roars of the combatants. A vivadu, a medic, something or she’d bleed out--! “Arrows!” someone yelled a few soldiers down, barely audible. Too late, as one pierced Ashia’s eye, slicing through it with a thunk as it hit something beyond. Her screams cut off abruptly, dieing in a strangled gurgle of blood.
Yzabelle moved to fill the gap in the line, shield firmly before her. “Yza, Ashia, I couldn’t--” Her eyes met his. “I know Karriv. I couldn’t save her eit --” She slammed an offending Gith down, ramming her sword through its gut and as it fell into Ashia’s corpse beneath it. “--er. It’s not over, Karriv. We’ve got a War to win. Now let’s kill these fucking sons of bitches!”
In the distance, cross the lengths of fighting sweat-soaked soldiers and treacherous footing made slick with blood and adorned with gore came a cry. Yzabelle spun to look for the source of the sound. “Karriv, the Lord Templar!”
Another explosion of gore, shards of sizzling-hot bone flew through the air. Blood, torn and shredded strips of muscle covered him like a mantle. Karriv could feel his heart racing in his chest (thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk) as the soldiers exploded around him, with not so much as time for a scream. He was going to be next; he was going to go-- His bladder released, seeping down his pants, urine mixing with the sweat that soaked them.
Beside him, Yzabelle rushed on, eyes also wide with fear. Her breathing came ragged, and she clenched her jaw, narrowing her gaze on their goal. They ran on, a deadly obstacle course of gith , stone road completely obscured by bodies and blood, both waiting for a misstep to send them booth sprawling down in the chaos. They scrambled to keep their footing and their sanity in this nightmarish reality.
“Karriv, cover me-- I’ll take point.” Karriv dropped back, focusing to the sneering, snarling Gith to either side. Yzabelle was free to focus her efforts on surging forewords. The repugnant stench of gore and the fallen filled the air, along with the all-permeating odor of burnt flesh, but it barely registered as the two sweat and blood-soaked soldiers pressed on.
They reached the Templar, Karriv rushing to route the gith in the front, Yza darting behind the Templar’s back. He didn’t know how long they hacked and slashed, if it was only moments, or endless days but suddenly there was nothing left to kill. Karriv stood, blinking blearily, breathing haggard as he waited for that simple yet inconceivable fact to register. “Yza?” He croaked. “It’s… Yzabelle…” Was the equally hoarse and haggard reply. Someone moaned, and they both were reminded of the cause for the frantic rush to get here.
Karriv stumbled over with a weary sigh, dropping to his knees to look the Lord Templar over. “I think he’s been poisoned.” Karriv begin to rummage through his belt, only to find that it had been slashed somewhere along the fight, precious contents lost somewhere amidst the chaos of battle. Fuck, now what?! He stared at the Templar, no answer coming. Then something clanged off his helmet, bouncing off. “You… Stupid… Lug…” Yzabelle’s breathing was still harsh and ragged, but she offered a grin. “Always loosing your shit. I swear ,you’d be a helpless babe without me.” Karriv snorted, inwardly clinging to the banter the way a man fallen over the edge of the shield wall would cling to a rope. It was familiar, it was reassuring and it kept him focused, able to ignore the ravages around him.
He picked the pouch thrown at him out from the rubble and gore, peering into it to discern the proper tablet. “Lord Templar?” Blue eyes flickered weakly over to gaze unsteadily at Karriv. “Milord, you have to eat this. You understand?” He placed the tablet in Nariliek’s mouth, making sure he ate and swallowed it-- Without choking or vomiting it back up. He poured the water from the flask to the Templar’s lips, and the blue eyes closed-- Breathing slowly getting steadier and more even. Karriv let out a sigh of relief, slumping down. “Yza, we did it. We did it.”
She gave a tired smile back, for once not complaining about the nick-name. “Yeah, we did.” They both just rested, recovering best they could before the inevitability of more fighting, more insanity. The adrenaline drained out of Karriv , leaving him glad that he was already on the ground; he didn’t think he could stand if he wanted to. Yzabelle didn’t seem much better, slumped against a wall, her fingers seemingly only still clutching her sword because they’d forgotten how to do anything else. His shield seemed to be wanting to drag his arm out of it’s socket, so damn fucking heavy. Had it always weighed this much?
He ached all over. Head to toe, nothing didn’t hurt. But they’d done it; they’d rescued the Lord Templar. They hadn’t exploded, and they weren’t dead. All in all, things were looking up. They just had to wait, either for re-enforcements or until they could lug the Lord Templar back to a secure spot to rest. Karriv wished he could rest, not likely; no able-bodied soldier could afford that luxury while Nak was threatened. Still, it was nice to be able to just sit awhile, aches or no, just rest, if only for a moment.
“GREEEAAAAAARRRKKKK!” A screech split the air, and Karriv turned, eyes wide in horror at the snarling form lunging towards him. He fumbled, trying to get his sword up, but it was too late; the Gith was too close, and in moments the blade would slice through his flesh, biting to the bone, severing-- Suddenly, in a blur of motion, the Gith was tackled from the side. Oh thank the Highlord, thank-you, Shadow Above, thank-you…
“ALLLANAAAAAAAK!” Yzabelle cried, slashing forwards. The Gith pulled up it’s face into a gruesome sneer at it was plowed into from the side, then let out a gurgle as it hit the road with a thunk, sword plunged clear through it. They both hit in a sprawling heap.
“Highlord, Yza, I’d thought he’d get me for sure. Fuck that was close!”
There was no answer. He could feel his heart beating, thump-thump-thump, and it seemed an eternity of silence, despite the fact that somewhere in the back of his mind he new that couldn’t be right; the battle was still going on. There was screaming, the clash of blades, surely… But he heard none of it. He heard nothing; nothing. No answer.
“Yza?” A chill of denial was already running through him. No, no, it couldn’t be… There were no last words, no moment of understanding before the end, no chance to say good-bye. She was playing, it was just a game. She always did have a bad sense of humor. “Yza, this isn’t fucking funny.” He rose shakily, heading over to where the gith and Yzabelle lay sprawled together in a heap. “Yza-- Yzabelle?” He knelt, turning her over-- Her guts spilled out, intestines still warm. Horror and loss overwhelmed him, and choked back the bile that rose. A voice, a memory, that flash of smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the scary Gith.” As he gathered her lifeless corpse into his arms, her head lolled to the side, helmet clanking off, her rich Quirri-black hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, eyes vacant as a doll’s, staring off, unseeing for evermore.
“And furthermore, you’ll now serve as the Corporal of your unit.”
Claps and cheers rose in the background, with the occasional cry of “Congratulations, Corporal!” or “You showed the fucks! Karriv Amosson the Gith-Smiter!” Karriv didn’t hear them. He only said one word: “No.”
Lord Templar Nariliek frowned. “What did you say?”
Karriv spoke again, shaking his head, voice raised to be heard over the clamor. “No. No! I’m not the one you want. I didn’t save you, I didn’t do shit! Yza--” He choked on the name. “Yzabelle’s the one you want. Ashia’s the one you want, Merrik is the fucking one you want! All the damn others-- They are the ones you want! I’M NOT A KRATH-FUCKING HERO! She fell and I fucking froze, I was reduced to a damn blubbering heap. I am not your damn hero.”
Complete and utter silence. The Lord Templar looked shocked, features blank with disbelief. His unit’s Sergeant looked horrified, the rest of the gathered soldiers couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d announced that he was the Sun-King. The Sergeant was the first to speak, his voice dangerously low. “Private Karriv Amosson , you--” The Lord Templar held up a hand, and the sergeant fell silent. The silent seemed overwhelming now, as oppressing as the sweltering heat of Suk-Krath at High Sun.
Two words, sharp as knives. “Collect yourself.” A hand pointed to the door, and Karriv left without a word into the ravaged city under the endless void of night. And in the silence, he swore a voice drifted, floating through the air like a tendril of breeze, a melody impossible to forget as inescapable as the death surrounding him.
“Win the bat- tle, loose the war,
Dreams of death for ever-more…”
The eerie, haunting melody slipped out over the brown-splattered, corpse-strewn streets, seeming only to enhance the utter stillness. Slowly it drifted through the air, each word lingering the way the stench of death lingered, permeating the air.
“No thoughts of glo-ry, this is war,
Dreams of...
Continue Reading...Counterpart (a poem) by Gimfalisette
Added on Jun 29, 2007A poetic exploration of love, death, art, struggle, and meaning from a Zalanthan perspective. Composed by a bard of Poets' Circle in Tuluk circa Year 34 of the 21st Age.
Counterpart
by Caitrin Irofel
No, dark is not the opposite of light,
As day is not the nemesis of night.
A coin that's carved from slick and shiny stone
Has two reflective sides; and yet is one.
The purest truths are found in paradox;
The deepest truths are simplest to unlock.
The shadow cannot tear itself away,
But owes existence to the sun's bright play.
All things must seek their balanced counterpart;
The bard's beat echoes in a stranger's heart.
Our bodies, bound in ecstasy, collide;
And still remains the merest of divides.
Were there no doubt, there never could be trust;
And absence heightens passion's fueling lust.
Twins, love and war are conflicts that engulf;
Impassioned struggle kills and births the self.
Both joy and sorrow spring from but one seed;
The greatest art is born from wretched need.
And still you ask why I would choose to love?
Though every life begins and ends in blood?
Yes, death will come and put an end to us,
The sands will sift, and all will turn to dust;
But I would rather fall entwined with you
Than die regretting what I did not do.Counterpart
by Caitrin Irofel
No, dark is not the opposite of light,
As day is not the nemesis of night.
A coin that's carved from slick and shiny stone
Has two reflective sides; and yet is one.
The purest truths are found in paradox;
The deepest truths are simplest to unlock.
The shadow cannot tear...
Continue Reading...Amos Kanked A Gemmer by Markie
Added on Apr 20, 2007Bad things happen when you kank a gemmer on a bet!
Amos kanked a gemmer
on a twenty five sid bet
he woke up with no pecker
how stupid can you get?
Amos kanked a gemmer
he thought she'd be a blast
but when it was all over
he ran away real fast
Amos kanked a gemmer
but finished way too soon
and now without his pecker
he sings a different tune
So never kank a gemmer
in some uncaring whirl
cuz if you kank a gemmer
you just might wake up a girl!
Amos kanked a gemmer
on a twenty five sid bet
he woke up with no pecker
how stupid can you get?
Amos kanked a gemmer
he thought she'd be a blast
but when it was all over
he ran away real fast
Amos kanked a gemmer
but finished way too soon
and now without his pecker
he sings a...
Continue Reading...Scarlet the Harlot by Breezy, Fale Whatsit
Added on Nov 30, 2006One of the most favored bawdy songs sung by the young Fale servant.
Scarlet, the Harlot, the girl we all adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
Way out on dunes where kankflop is thick,
Where women are women and raiders come quick.
There lived pretty Scarlet, the girl we adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
It's Scarlet the Harlot, the girl we adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
She's dirty, she's vulgar, she spits in the street,
Whenever you see her, she's always in heat!
She'll lay down for ten 'sid, take less or take more.
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
Scarlet the Harlot, the girl we adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
One day in the canyon, no pants on her quim.
A desert snake saw her and flung himself in!
Scarlet the Harlot gave raiders the frights,
The only cooch that hisses and bites!
It's Scarlet the Harlot, the girl we adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
One day on the dunes while riding along,
My seat in the saddle, the reins on my dong,
Who should I meet but the girl I adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
It's Scarlet the Harlot, the girl we adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
I got off my kank, I reached for her crack,
The damn thing was hissing and bitin' me back!
I took out my crossbow, I aimed for its head,
I missed the damn snake, I shot her instead.
It's Scarlet the Harlot, the girl we adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
Her line of mourners was forty leagues long,
With a chorus of raiders singin' this song.
"Here lies a young maiden who never kept score,
Young Scarlet the Harlot, the kank-herder's whore!"
It's Scarlet the Harlot, the girl we adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
It's Scarlet the Harlot, the girl we adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore!
Scarlet, the Harlot, the girl we all adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
Way out on dunes where kankflop is thick,
Where women are women and raiders come quick.
There lived pretty Scarlet, the girl we adore,
The pride of the dunes, the kank-herder's whore.
It's Scarlet the Harlot,...
Continue Reading...Tuluki Lullaby by Gimfalisette
Added on Nov 23, 2006A bedtime song for children which teaches essential concepts of Tuluki culture and some counting, composed by a bard of Poets' Circle in New Tuluk circa Year 28 of the 21st Age.
by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
Hush now, my dear child, put tears to rest,
I'll sing you a song to count how you're blessed.
Lay your head down and dry your eyes,
While I play a soft, sweet Tuluki lullaby.
One for the Sun King, his love and grace
Shines down on you warmer than the sun's red face.
Two Orders of His Faithful, their care and might,
Watching and keeping you safe through the night.
Three for the third faction, the Houses so grand,
His Chosen's dedication is known through the land.
Four are the castes which labor as one,
Each has a duty in the work to be done.
Five is Gol Krathu and its four-direction surround,
Where all good things of nature abound.
Six are the Circles of the Poets of the north,
Where arts ancient and new in bounty pour forth.
Seven hours does the sun shine each bright day,
In the Ivory where you'll grow as you laugh and play.
All these things and more will bless your time,
But for now, go to sleep, precious child of mine.
by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
Hush now, my dear child, put tears to rest,
I'll sing you a song to count how you're blessed.
Lay your head down and dry your eyes,
While I play a soft, sweet Tuluki lullaby.
One for the Sun King, his love and grace
Shines down on you warmer than the sun's...
Continue Reading...Singin' in the Shade by Rhyden
Added on Oct 28, 2006A lively street stong by an unknown Tuluki bard.
Singin' in the shade, the skies begin to fade,
My day's already made, cause I'm singin' in the shade.
When times get tough, I'll sing some stuff,
Singin' in the shade, 'till they've had enough.
They'll all clap along, while I sing my song,
Singin' in the shade, nothing can be wrong.
Singin' in the shade, the skies begin to fade,
My day's already made, cause I'm singin' in the shade.
Strumming every string, we'll all begin to sing,
Singin' in the shade, for the great Sun King.
Sing from night 'till day, I'll just sing away,
Singin' in the shade, what do ya say? I'll say…
Singin' in the shade, the skies begin to fade,
My day's already made, cause I'm singin' in the shade.
If times get real bad, just don't get mad,
Singin' in the shade, good times to be had.
Where ya might just be, sing along with me,
We're singin in the shade, music is the key.
We're singin' in the shade, the skies begin to fade,
Our day's already made, and we're singin' in the shade.
We're singin' in the shade…
Just singin' in the shade…
Singin' in the shade.Singin' in the shade, the skies begin to fade,
My day's already made, cause I'm singin' in the shade.
When times get tough, I'll sing some stuff,
Singin' in the shade, 'till they've had enough.
They'll all clap along, while I sing my song,
Singin' in the shade, nothing can be wrong.
Singin' in...
Continue Reading...Lost in the Stinging Sands by Rhyden
Added on Oct 28, 2006A sad song about a lost, dying hunter by an unknown Tuluki bard.
There's a place, not far away, the sun, the moon, a quiet place...
Why can't I get there, to this place, the sun, the moon, a quiet place?
Lost in all the stinging sands...
Lost in all the stinging sands.
The winds pick up, sand all around, the hot, the dry and swirling sands…
Why can't I get there, to this place, the sun, the moon, a quiet place?
Lost in all the stinging sands...
Lost in all the stinging sands.
Time goes by, but sands still fly, now blind, now lost, I cannot see…
Why can't I get there, to this place, the sun, the moon, a quiet place?
Lost in all the stinging sands...
Lost in all the stinging sands.
Now it's dark, it's hard to breathe, the pain, the thirst, there's nothing
left…
Why can't I get there, to this place, the sun, the moon, a quiet place?
Lost in all the stinging sands...
Lost in all the stinging sands.
There's a place, not far away, the sun, the moon, a quiet place…
Why can't I get there, to this place, the sun, the moon, a quiet place?
Lost in the stinging sands…
Forever in the stinging sands.
There's a place, not far away, the sun, the moon, a quiet place...
Why can't I get there, to this place, the sun, the moon, a quiet place?
Lullaby by Sivri, Whatsit of Fale
Added on Oct 28, 2006an Allanaki lullaby
Hush my baby, hushabye
Lirathu's slipped down from the sky
the night is short and the day is long
adversity will make you strong
Now watch out for the gortok
he's got a nasty bite
and don't go chasing after things
that roam the 'rinth at night
Beware the 'breeds and neckers
who'd love to rob you blind
and stay away from magick dear
or it will warp your mind
Hush my baby, hushabye
Lirathu's slipped down from the sky
the night is short and the day is long
adversity will make you strong
So sleep with one eye open
and keep your water near
devotions every Detal morn
to keep your conscience clear
Never cross a Templar
obey the Highlord's laws
and hope you never find yourself
caught in the tembo's claws
Hush my baby, hushabye
Lirathu's slipped down from the sky
the night is short and the day is long
adversity will make you strongHush my baby, hushabye
Lirathu's slipped down from the sky
the night is short and the day is long
adversity will make you strong
Now watch out for the gortok
he's got a nasty bite
and don't go chasing after things
that roam the 'rinth at night
Beware the 'breeds and neckers
who'd love to rob you blind
and...
Continue Reading...Nakki Boys by Sivri, Whatsit of Fale
Added on Oct 18, 2006A song about the men of Allanak
We all know that Tuluki men are Eunuchs
and Red Storm guys just cannot hit the shot
and though I've heard Kuraci men
can do the loving work of ten
it's Nakki boys that make my blood run hot
There's Bynners if you like the rough and tumble
and Terash aides of silk if you do not
The Tor lads and Borsail
are all up to their necks in tail
cuz Nakki boys all make the women hot
The Oash lads bring you fine wine for your table
the boys of Sath provoke a lot of thought
the sexy men of Fale
in every dalliance prevail
cuz Nakki boys make all the women hot
So try a taste of Kasix in the morning
A Valika boy at lunchtime hits the spot
Jal and Rennik at the bar,
don't just admire them from afar
cuz Nakki boys like all their women hot!We all know that Tuluki men are Eunuchs
and Red Storm guys just cannot hit the shot
and though I've heard Kuraci men
can do the loving work of ten
it's Nakki boys that make my blood run hot
There's Bynners if you like the rough and tumble
and Terash aides of silk if you do not
The Tor lads and Borsail...
Continue Reading...Final Memories of Him by Reiloth
Added on Sep 28, 2006A song written by Jochebed Abishai of Elkinhym in light of his father's passing.
My first memories of him were by the age of five,
When he mussed with my hair, and told me voice snide,
"Son, you must remember when the day is done,
to clean your feet in the shadow of the sun.";
And to this day, upon arriving home,
I look to my shoes, and for a man who will never come.
My second memories of him were by the age of seventeen,
When he clapped my shoulder, slapping my bearded chin unclean,
"Son, you must remember to compliment your mate,
Or else you will find yourself in a deprived state.";
And to this day, when I see my mate's eyes,
I revel in their color aloud, knowing he has died.
My third memories of him were by the age of twenty-two,
when he mused of my sister, and of my new wound.
"Son, remember that 'great things' should be considered lightly,
and the littlest of things with such detail, not slightly."
And to this day, when a man pries to the state of my face,
I smile as I do, and leave him in haste.
My fourth memories of him were by the age of twenty-five,
when I held his hand, and watched the last living breath die,
"Son, for me this you must do; never give up, or pretend to be a fool;
Always to yourself be true, and only willingly play the tool."
And with his dying breath I sighed, my eyes turning to shaded places
inside;
and when my feet loudly scuff more than I intend,
His dying words, my thoughts often recommend.
My final memories of him were by the age of right now,
In song he is remembered, like the sky or dust-clouds,
"Father, you must remember that I miss you so,
and that your words, succinctly, to my children will go."
And to this day, a thought of him brings tears to my eyes,
knowing his life was snuffed, like a torch to the wind's sighs.
My first memories of him were by the age of five,
When he mussed with my hair, and told me voice snide,
"Son, you must remember when the day is done,
to clean your feet in the shadow of the sun.";
And to this day, upon arriving home,
I look to my shoes, and for a man who will never come.
My second...
Continue Reading...The Victory at the Battle of the Canyon by Gimfalisette
Added on Sep 27, 2006Rousing historical song which celebrates and chronicles Tuluk's victory in the final battle of the War. Composed by a bard of Poets' Circle in New Tuluk shortly after the end of the war.
by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
(song is also known as "Look Up, Soldiers")
They'd fought long and hard at the Copper War and each soldier was tired to the bone,
Our Legions beat back the Nakkis again and again, and had faith that the war would be won.
Then they heard word--The last battle is ahead, so Legionnaires stand and prepare--
With the end coming on, as the red sun went down, my love raised his face to its glare.
Look up for your help now, look up, soldiers! To the Sun King pray for a sign!
My love put on his armor and raised up his weapons, for fast came the killing time.
Look up for your strength now, look up, soldiers--And remember the Ivory--
My love's thoughts turned homeward, far to the north, and softly lingered on me.
Through a long dark night His Legions lay there in wait, ready for the dawn with its light,
But when the sun crept over the rocky canyon's east edge it shined on a terrible sight.
The Black hordes had left their camp in the dark and amassed to march for the fight,
An impossible force now stood at the gates, and the canyon floor shook with its might.
As far as he looked, all my love saw was a roiling swarm of abominations,
The crackle and stench of their vile magicks would have turned a weak man to desperation.
And the Blue witches rode at the front of that line, piercingly shrieking commands--
But my love held onto courage, and stood by His Faithful, steady with weapons to hand.
Then all at once with a crash and a boom like thunder, the craggy cliffs started to fall!
For His Legions are clever, and knowing the enemy, had planted traps in the walls.
And as rocks tumbled down to smash through the ranks of the Black's assembled force,
Something even more wondrous, and strange in the telling, began to take its course.
A feeling then touched our Faithful Lady Eunoli, a sense of the Sun King's presence--
And she knew He watched over each Loyal soldier standing there in the Ivory's defense.
Unseen, unheard then, at His bidding, she and our Faithful Lady Felysia ascended
To the top of the cliffs overlooking the battle to complete what the Sun King intended.
Then drawing her sword, by name Rectitude, the Faithful Lady held the steel blade up high,
And its metal caught the blaze of the morning sun, throwing flame toward the enemy's eye.
Shielding his gaze, my brave love looked up and encountered that awe-striking sight--
Against a hot red sky, a gleaming vision of fire, and two Faithful figures in white.
Look up for your hope now, look up, soldiers! A flash of light on the canyonside!
My love's heart beat fast and he started to think he might be home in Tuluk that night.
Look up to your joy now, look up, soldiers! Look up to see the glory of victory!
My love's breath came hard as his soul lifted up in a silent cry for the Ivory.
Then, it is said, as that steel blade shone bright, the Nakki commanders lost hope,
Their mighty line did break and flee, as their leaders' voices choked in dry throats.
The war was won at the Battle of the Canyon that day, where not a drop of Loyal blood was spilled,
My soldier love then came home safe to me, while with shouts of rejoicing our Tuluk was filled.by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
(song is also known as "Look Up, Soldiers")
They'd fought long and hard at the Copper War and each soldier was tired to the bone,
Our Legions beat back the Nakkis again and again, and had faith that the war would be won.
Then they heard word--The last battle is ahead,...
Continue Reading...The Latest of Nights by Reiloth
Added on Sep 18, 2006An eerie patriotic song of the North, written by Jochebed Abishai of Elkinhym.
When a limp wind runs through my feet,
through the toes and where the fingers meet,
through the very core of my being,
I know that something passes nearby, unseen.
A shadow of doubt lingers in my mind,
When I see a man with eyes unkind,
A glance in the crowd, proving unwanted company,
though I know I am safe from the things I can't see.
They walk along my face in the sun,
They whisper in my shadow of the trophies they've won,
They prowl in my alleys, thinking to win the good fight,
But my eyes remain open, on the latest of nights.
They drink in my bars, praising my King,
They piss in my gutters, and laugh at the scene.
They make love in my beds, and my Children awake,
They kill those who would just take, and take, and take.
So wary the traveller who trods with soft step from the South,
And likens himself to a quirri in the hunt,
For eyes spill from my cracks in the street underneath,
and ears will listen for words far too blunt.
When a limp wind runs through my feet,
through the toes and where the fingers meet,
through the very core of my being,
I know that something passes nearby, unseen.
A shadow of doubt lingers in my mind,
When I see a man with eyes unkind,
A glance in the crowd, proving unwanted company,
though I know I...
Continue Reading...Tuluk Girls by Gimfalisette
Added on Sep 9, 2006A song composed as a subtle warning to 'Nakki traders during the Copper War by a bard of Poets' Circle in New Tuluk.
by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
As I walked down the North Road a fair lass did I meet,
Who asked me please to see her home, she lived just up the street.
I said, "Oh lovely woman, I'm a stranger here in town,
I left my wagon just a moment ago, from Allanak I was bound."She said, "Come with me, lover, I'll stand you to a treat,
I'll buy you ale and spice my love, and smoked meat for to eat."
And when we reached The Tembo's Tooth, oh the drinks were handed out,
That spiced mead was so awful strong, my head went roundabout.When the drinking it was over, we straight to bed did go,
And little did I ever think she'd prove my overthrow.
When I came to next morning, I had an aching head,
And there I was, Amos-all-alone, stark naked on the bed.I looked all around the room, nothing I could see,
But a silken dress and slippers which now belonged to me.
Everything was silent, the dawn was coming hard,
I put my dress and slippers on and headed for the yard.My wagon-mates seein' me come aboard these words to me did say,
"Well, my friend, you've lost your armor since last you went away.
Is this the new spring fashion they're wearing in Tuluk?
Where is the shop that sells it, I'd like to have a look."So listen all you Nakkis, take warning when in the Ivory,
Or else you'll meet some charming lass who's licensed in thievery.
Your hard-earned coin will disappear, your gear and boots as well,
For Tuluk girls are tougher than Suk-Krath's Pits of Hell!by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
As I walked down the North Road a fair lass did I meet,
Who asked me please to see her home, she lived just up the street.
I said, "Oh lovely woman, I'm a stranger here in town,
I left my wagon just a moment ago, from Allanak I was bound."She said, "Come with me,...
Continue Reading...Splendour of the drunk by Northlander
Added on Sep 7, 2006Northern rhymes approached in part or in whole by the liquor-bravest of tongue-wigglers.
It was last night after eat when I hardly on my feet went all my way off the seat,
balancing the tembo's teeth in a style not all too neat;
I tripped on a sculpture of wood and I saw not where it had stood, but wanting ever to make good,
(and not by barkeep thought a hood), raise it I still thought I should and ought as quick as I could.
And I grabbed it by the waist and then like someone well-crazed strove and pulled to have it raised,
and hoping I had naught defaced loudly I the carver's skill praised.
For now the early sun showed features of fresh mom in this sculpture of one.
Loud I lauded the painter for drawing skin not fainter, than this here my very own - vivid on this wood and bone.
Now yes, to mine left eye there was something awry with this paint hardly dry,
But my right focused sight on my plight and so tight (and not light)
I pulled now without complaint - unafraid of coloured taint,
Though it had texture that no hardwood should, lift as lighter wood hardly I could,
As strangely its wooden leg was bending when I tried my grip, ascending!
Loudly then to friends I wondered, how can wood weigh stones a hundred?
And I also wondered spoken, "How badly now have I blundered,
why does it bend as if sundered - say not that I have it broken?"
Then sudden as sky of clearness plundered - the world (and the tavern) loudly thundered!
It sounded just like a tell but I thought a table fell - and with it a large bone bell,
For I had a thick pint smoken and - sure - thought this but a token of the substances awoken.
Drunken two knots and was shoken - surely wood - surely wood could not have spoken?
But think you now this dread was but in my head - know then I was fed
Know that I now am sure that both spice and drink were pure - and wood on its own gave the roar,
High as any real person could - and all on its own then it stood this marvellous sculpture of wood!
And I swear now that high and hearty came the yell in midst of the party
No happy melody but known - my name to this fell wooden crone!
I was chased by the immense (like a small fool back to my stool)
but my friends came to defence and that wooden crone turned hence
(wiped with sleeves at nose's leaves) And on went that amply equipped
to stand anew where I had slipped, where I had keenly gone and tripped,
Standing watching others prance - refusing always to do dance
- fleeing the taking of chance - stiff as a stick in her stance,
Leaning to a dark wall as a kank in its stall - as in a trance - treating tavern as a cavern and me not with a glance.
Which was wrong, not cruel, it made her the fool - why, when last was touched that wooden thigh?
And so me and my friends nearby were raising glasses, toasting high:
To wooden loin!
Her pouch (now mine) was merely briefly full of coin.
It was last night after eat when I hardly on my feet went all my way off the seat,
balancing the tembo's teeth in a style not all too neat;
I tripped on a sculpture of wood and I saw not where it had stood, but wanting ever to make good,
(and not by barkeep thought a hood), raise it I still...
Continue Reading...Dance and Laugh at the Poor Ol' Nakkis' Fate by Gimfalisette
Added on Sep 7, 2006A boasting song addressed to the soldiers of Tuluk and composed to celebrate a victorious battle over the forces of Allanak during the Copper War by a bard of Poets' Circle in New Tuluk.
by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
I heard you tore through Tor, showed those Scorpions the door!
The Borsail Wyverns are squeaking now with fear.
It won't be very long now, friends, 'til you're back with us again,
And when you get here I'm gonna give a great big cheer.
In fact, a kiss for one and all! When you come back proud and tall,
I'll kiss you each as you walk through the gate.
And then we'll drink and drink again, and celebrate the battle's end,
We'll dance and laugh at the poor ol' Nakkis' fate.
Now go and kick some weak Oash ass! This chance has rarely come to pass,
Once in your life to watch a Fale--well, fail!
The rest of their puffed-up so-called nobles ain't even worth a thought or trouble,
And their survival chance is thinner than a nail.
Every soldier do your part, give it fast and give it hard!
You've got the stinking Nakkis by the throat.
Just get the job done one by one, kick them Nakkis in the bum,
And leave 'em in the Red Desert's sand to bloat.
And then a kiss to one and all! When you come back proud and tall,
I'll kiss you each as you walk through the gate.
And then we'll drink and drink again, and celebrate the battle's end,
We'll dance and laugh at the poor ol' Nakkis' fate!by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
I heard you tore through Tor, showed those Scorpions the door!
The Borsail Wyverns are squeaking now with fear.
It won't be very long now, friends, 'til you're back with us again,
And when you get here I'm gonna give a great big cheer.
In fact, a kiss for one and all!...
Continue Reading...My Heart Belongs to the Ivory by Gimfalisette
Added on Sep 7, 2006A patriotic song on themes of love for nation-state, loss of companions, and war. Composed during the Copper War by a bard of Poets' Circle.
by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
I will remember my young Legionnaire,
Who marched off to war with the wind in his hair.
I will remember the Black City's attack--
Dead in the desert, he's not coming back.
I will remember the many friends I've lost--
They chose to bear arms regardless of cost.
With hope and faith, in battle they fell,
Each face and each name I remember so well.
CHORUS:
My heart belongs to the Ivory,
Her life and her breath and her soul real to me.
My grief I will take and put to her use--
Rather than mourning, service I choose.
My Tuluk, my love, my light, my home--
In your embrace I am never alone.
Though all may fall and leave me forever,
My love for my Sun King and home will not waver.
No matter how humble what I have to give,
The Ivory shall have it as long as I live.
Instead of the kiss of my lost beloved,
In place of the laughter of friends now dead--
I will comfort myself with the work to be done,
Unresting 'til the Ivory's victory is won.
CHORUS:
My heart belongs to the Ivory,
Her life and her breath and her soul real to me.
My grief I will take and put to her use--
Rather than mourning, service I choose.
My Tuluk, my love, my light, my home--
In your embrace I am never alone.by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
I will remember my young Legionnaire,
Who marched off to war with the wind in his hair.
I will remember the Black City's attack--
Dead in the desert, he's not coming back.
I will remember the many friends I've lost--
They chose to bear arms regardless of cost.
With...
Continue Reading...A Soldier's Love by Gimfalisette
Added on Sep 7, 2006A melancholy song of love, war, and death composed by a bard of Poets' Circle in New Tuluk at the time of the Copper War.
A Soldier's Love
by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
My first soldier love was my father, but nothing of him do I know,
Save that mother loved him with a passion until off to fight he did go.
He never returned from the battle, and she in turn lost her heart,
When a little while later I was born, nothing was left of her spark.
A solider will love you like a blazing fire,
Hot and consuming as the flame's desire.
But fire goes out, as the life of the soldier--
A bright-burning love, and then it is over.
When I grew up I met a young man, a handsome Legionnaire,
In a time of peace we fell in love as our hopes and dreams we shared.
But the call came for him to go to war, and far away south he marched,
When he fell in the desert I knew why my own mother had lost her heart.
A soldier will love you like the warm plains wind,
Rushing and fierce to embrace you again.
But wind blows away, as the life of the soldier--
A sweet breeze of love, and then it is over.
Though I didn't want to love again, the war caused us to meet,
A Corporal with hair as black as night and a smile that was so sweet.
At the war's end we celebrated together the Ivory's victory,
Then two weeks later he fell in battle, that soldier who so loved me.
A soldier will love you like life and death,
Will hold you tight and cherish each breath.
But death comes soon to take the soldier,
Who loves strong and deep 'til his life is over.
A Soldier's Love
by Maerylin "Mae" Konviwedu
My first soldier love was my father, but nothing of him do I know,
Save that mother loved him with a passion until off to fight he did go.
He never returned from the battle, and she in turn lost her heart,
When a little while later I was born,...
Continue Reading...Ivory to be - I advise by Northlander
Added on Aug 29, 2006People-berating protest-ballad of Tuluki origin. Surfaced during the Red Desert War.
I advise you to sell dearly your obsidian;
that glistens so nicely with its sharpeties.
And is mined by northerners on knees,
who charge Tektolnes' whip their fees.
You help in that way to keep the order,
threatened by disorderlies.
Who stand, defend our border..
.. Who wish for a sword to squeeze.
I advise you to sit on your asses,
and quietly then draw your breaths.
In part live as others and time passes,
in part you'll bring ruin and deaths.
A better ground your ass'll never taste;
it has the flavour of Tuluki blood!
And like the needle pushed on by the thumb..
.. most obligingly succumb..
.. Without knowing what's to come..
And you've joined the line of time by suture -
Making Old Tuluk the future.I advise you to sell dearly your obsidian;
that glistens so nicely with its sharpeties.
And is mined by northerners on knees,
who charge Tektolnes' whip their fees.
You help in that way to keep the order,
threatened by disorderlies.
Who stand, defend our border..
.. Who wish for a sword to squeeze.
I...
Continue Reading...Childhood rhyme of the Warrens by Northlander
Added on Aug 29, 2006Simple thing passed between the children and parentless of Tuluk's slums, often changing a bit on the way.
Muk who keeps the children safe,
see to me who's but a waif.
Wherever I in Ivory,
walk inked in your livery..
.. Luck will cry, luck will sing,
You remain, my Sun King.
Muk who keeps the children safe,
see to me who's but a waif.
Wherever I in Ivory,
walk inked in your livery..
.. Luck will cry, luck will sing,
You remain, my Sun King.
Continue Reading...When great was my need by Northlander
Added on Aug 29, 2006From the street-poets of Tuluk - oftentimes accompanied by a wig.
When great was my need I went to Kurac,
dadeedadidaadoo-'I to Kurac.
For there craving goes for 'handful of black,
dadeedadidaadoo-'andful of black.
Weak and alone in the Outpost I was,
naught in my pipe and my mood with its flaws..
.. Yes alone in the Outpost I was.
I knocked on the door where a peddler housed,
dadeedadidaadoo-peddler was housed.
There opened a woman pale and just roused,
dadeedadidaadoo-pale and just roused.
Be friendly, I said, please let me come in,
I'm craving and spent but kindly as kin..
.. Do be so kind to let me come in.
'My man he is gone to torture a man',
dadeedadidaadoo-'torture a man'.
'And then must sniff through the spice the man ran',
dadeedadidaadoo-'spice the man ran'.
'Yes, peddlers work in a world of dismay',
'but gladly I'll help your problem allay'..
.. 'For the world is grim, bitter dismay.'
And here now I'll skip a verse maybe two,
dadeedadidaadoo-a verse or two.
Kuraci peddlers one oughtn't beshrew,
dadeedadidaadoo-ought not beshrew.
But nothing at all did my craving weigh,
and my mind shone with a smile on display..
.. when I finally went thereaway.
So therefore when craving sets to its worst,
with your body full of misery's thirst;
Do at the Kuraci door your hand try,
the peddler himself in shortest supply -
- You'll be eased and comforted like I.When great was my need I went to Kurac,
dadeedadidaadoo-'I to Kurac.
For there craving goes for 'handful of black,
dadeedadidaadoo-'andful of black.
Weak and alone in the Outpost I was,
naught in my pipe and my mood with its flaws..
.. Yes alone in the Outpost I was.
I knocked on the door where a...
Continue Reading...Our hours by Northlander
Added on Aug 29, 2006Love-lyrics given with or without rhythm and paced in any fashion. No particular bard is tributed.
Suk-Krath burns under my feet
Making warm the still..
.. As your hands, it gives heat
Warm; it gives me will!
Under shadow I am sane
Will to kiss your lips..
.. The strongest warmth is pain
Caress with fingertips!
Red of Suk replaced by moon
Passion's death is calm..
.. Mem'ry cradles like a spoon
Sweetest kiss's balm..
As midday burns hearts' dissent
Evening chills the swooned..
.. Come night we fast and repent..
.. Lovely morning wound.
Suk-Krath burns under my feet
Making warm the still..
.. As your hands, it gives heat
Warm; it gives me will!
Under shadow I am sane
Will to kiss your lips..
.. The strongest warmth is pain
Caress with fingertips!
Red of Suk replaced by moon
Passion's death is calm..
.. Mem'ry cradles like a...
Continue Reading...A Monologue by Travis
Added on Mar 26, 2006Zalanthan fatalism at it's finest.
Originally composed and performed by Jalaya Orlani of Konviwedu Circle
Oh what is art? I must enquire...
A flavored word, or lyric fire?
A high burlesque, or sorrowed note,
A fiddle bowed, or poem wrote?
The answer drifts upon the air..
Like Cenyr's glass: it's source is rare.
The question be, to those who see,
is why our art doth set us free.
Each rhythmic beat that comes from here,
escapes our hearts without a fear.
And travels far to spread the word,
of life, and love, and loss unheard.
The journey ends where it began,
from far and wide across the sand.
Behind it all there is no more,
until it's all been done before.
And when it has at last been said...
we all will lie forgotten, dead.Originally composed and performed by Jalaya Orlani of Konviwedu Circle
Oh what is art? I must enquire...
A flavored word, or lyric fire?
A high burlesque, or sorrowed note,
A fiddle bowed, or poem wrote?
The answer drifts upon the air..
Like Cenyr's glass: it's source is rare.
The question be, to...
Continue Reading...Three Times To Hold Your Tongue by Methyas Groot
Added on Mar 17, 2006A original Tuluki drinking song.
There are times to be boisterous, and times to be loud,
times to be noisy, and bellowing proud.
But sometimes, when difficult traps have been sprung,
it's better for you to hold onto your tongue.
A compliment spoken can go a long way,
in pleasing His Chosen, with little delay.
"His Light! That is fabulous silk that you wear!":
will summon a smile, if with zeal you declare.
But if ever you come upon -two- of His blessed,
who each claim to model the trendiest vest,
and on you the badge of the judge is bestowed...
Do not be a fool. Just keep your mouth closed.
A story can brighten the bleakest of days,
if clever the subject, and witty the phrase
The best ones hold listeners captive and still,
and bring to their hearts insurmountable thrill.
But if for a Master some day you present,
and what you have crafted makes him discontent,
be silent and show that you have understood,
for any retort will do more harm than good.
There's little that's better than falling in love,
to find that one person who fits like a glove.
"My sweet, of death I am no longer afraid.."
Will probably end up in you getting laid.
And then there are those of us, I must confide,
who need to have various flings on the side.
But when it's your true love's own outpost you maim,
for fucking krath's sake...try and say the right name!
So now that you know of the power of prose,
perhaps you'll think twice about how you compose.
Just never forget, if you fall in a rut...
The best thing to do is to keep your mouth shut.There are times to be boisterous, and times to be loud,
times to be noisy, and bellowing proud.
But sometimes, when difficult traps have been sprung,
it's better for you to hold onto your tongue.
A compliment spoken can go a long way,
in pleasing His Chosen, with little delay.
"His Light! That is...
Continue Reading...Legends Past by Anonymous
Added on Nov 15, 2005This is actually only one of a set of lyrics that are fitted to the same song. They all begin the same, but each tell their own story. Very old, probably northern in origin.
O legends tell us many tales,
of the long lost past.
Of ancient seas that kissed the hills,
and held the Shield Wall fast.
No seas of silt were these
(think that not, o no!)
instead they were of waters deep
(its true, believe it so!)
A tower be my witness,
its light did guide the way
of wind-touched carts borne not on wheels
but waters of the bay.
It stands a lonely vigil (still!)
and mourns what time did steal,
for where the waters left away,
legends don't reveal.
O legends tell us many tales,
of the long lost past.
Of ancient seas that kissed the hills,
and held the Shield Wall fast.
No seas of silt were these
(think that not, o no!)
instead they were of waters deep
(its true, believe it so!)
A tower be my witness,
its light did guide the way
of...
Continue Reading...Two Moons by Anonymous
Added on Nov 15, 2005A cheerful tavern song that gets patrons singing along. Unknown origin.
O Jihae follows Lirathu,
through the sky and round.
Once a month he catches her,
and then he beds her down.
But while Jihae is sleeping,
sweet Lirathu does fly.
And when he wakes he starts anew,
the chase across the sky.
O Jihae follows Lirathu,
through the sky and round.
Once a month he catches her,
and then he beds her down.
But while Jihae is sleeping,
sweet Lirathu does fly.
And when he wakes he starts anew,
the chase across the sky.
