The Taming of the Lion

The poem composed by the famous orator, Libacius, lamenting the sack of Nacia. Written as he fled the city on foot with many other refugees, watching great pillars of smoke envelope the walls.

By what have the sharp fangs gone dull?

Or roar so thunderous now like a mouse’s squeak?

Now marble towers

Lie in ruined pile

And gardens

Sit Overrun with weeds

By what force has the world tamed the Lion of Nacia?

Which did once prey on whole hosts of nations with razor teeth

And make cower all with a roar of deafening magnitude

By what milk shall the lion grow strong again?

Can such elixir exist?

Can such a man be born?

To make the lion roar once again

The Black Elk, God of the Zelphine People

Poem composed by King Rogbert when he and his hunting party were cast off their horses by a burning visage of a black elk.

What mortal man dare to stand

In the presence of the Black Elk?

What fire has he

That the Elk does not envelop?

With horns like darkened ivory

And eyes of burning suns

With hooves that singe against the dirt

And breath that turns to steam

Aye the man that stands would be mortal

For not long shall he stand in the presence

Of the Black Elk!

The Drowned Knight, a Poem from the land of Ritter

Composed by an unkown squire, sometime in the Age of Glory, since then, a staple of Ritter bards and performers.

Upon the gleaming lands of Ritter

A knight clad in shining steel rode

His face and crown adorned in gold

With the clinking and jangling of his metal

Which did sound much like potted kettle

By the road

Set upon by bandits with broken blades and rotted teeth

The knight let out a great laugh and took out his blade from its sheath

With a great swing he made quick work of them

Leaving them upon the forest floor they were condemned

By the cave

Awoke a great bear

With a roar that did pierce the fair air

Slashed and claw it did

By the shining armor of the knight all harm it did forbid

When the knight swung his sword

And took the bear’s head to the local lord

By the river

The folk told of a beast

Hewn of scale which had swam from the east

Upon the sea the knight did wade

To pierce the sea dragon with his blade

By the rushing flow of water

The knight found his own slaughter

For now upon the bottom of the river

Clad in shining metal like that of silver

Sits the Drowned Knight

Set Sail, the Song of Erastrius

A traditional drinking song of the Erastrians, the maritine people of the south. From a collection of poems from, The Sword to Unite

Set Sail!

Set Sail! Set Sail you folk of Baudoin!

For you destiny lies across the sea

And the chance won’t soon come again

In lands so rich and hearths so warm

Where a man can trip over lots of gold

Set Sail!

Set Sail! Set Sail you folk of Baudoin!

For there we face our final test

Our path set against our foes

So pack your things

For the harbormaster calls your name

Set Sail!

Set Sail! Set Sail you folk of Baudoin!

Let not the storm drag you down

Nor the wind send you off course

Let the stars be your guide

As they have for many generations before

Set Sail!

Set Sail! Set Sail you folk of Baudoin!

The Twiddle and the Whittle

A poem from The Sword to Unite, sung by the elf, Eadwine

 

Oh the farmer had a pig

A hog so fat and full

It snorted and twiddled

While the farmer sat and whittled

And the pig did laugh and the pig did jest

For it knew not why the farmer whittled

While he did twiddle

Then came the day

When the farmer had whittled

A spit for the pig

That the pork did no longer twiddle

Rather did it sizzle!