[OOC: it’s up to you whether you want to tell the others what it says in general or ‘read it aloud’ to them. Sorry, the ‘text’ isn’t as long or polished as I’d like (no jokes about swords and fishing poles… I’m looking at you Kerap
). This is one of the things I lost when my thumb-drive went missing. I had to recreate the little I have from memory a few weeks ago. It used to have 11 stanzas (13 parts including the Prologue and Epilogue). I’m pretty confident what I came up with is close to the original.]
Rautant shakes his head at the kender’s questions,
I’m afraid not, my friend. Unfortunately there is no side room in the Toad for study as there is in the Silver Scale. Mira looks to the back room but the old shopkeep forestalls her.
I’ve an experiment going just now, and I am unsure of the result… it could be quite dangerous, but… He disappears into the back for a moment and returns with a tall stool which he passes over the counter. Placing it near the wall, Mira has a comfortable enough seat; she has given lengthy performances on far harder stools. The bard begins her spell, chanting the phrase she had chosen to tie it with. Taking a smudge of soot she mixes it with a few grains of salt between her thumb and forefinger before closing her eyes and smearing the chalky concoction across her lids. A tingling sensation and a blue-white glow envelop her optical organs for a second before fading.
It would be interesting to hear it again. From what I recall it is in verse. the old man replies. Elsa looks excited at the prospect of hearing it herself and Merrick chimes in,
I must admit, you have my curiosity piqued as well.
Mira places the work before her, gently resting her fingers atop the gilded pages decorated in a fascinating array of scroll-work and delicate inking. As she reads she discovers it is in the style of an ancient epic. In some places pages containing whole stanzas appear to be missing, though not from age or neglect; they were likely removed long ago by some unknown hand…
Book of Legend
Prologue:
The Golden Sun Sank Down – Grown Red in his Anger
He Turned his Face Away – And Darkness Settled in
Then Silver Sister Moon – Drew Back her Ebon Veil
Revealing her Pale Face – Full to the World Below.
The Twisted Children Now – Of the Earth Mother Stir,
They Hunt and Feed and Bray! – Oh, Wretched Beasts of sin!
And for their Hunger, Soon - The Land ‘gan Weep and Wail,
And Bear the Bloody Trace - Of their Dark Deeds to Show.
Yet they Roam. Yes they Roam - Go Hide in some Dark Hole.
Still they Hunt, Endless Hunt - They only Want your Soul.
Rend the Flesh, Tender Flesh - And cry out to the Moon
To Ravage, Slay and Feed - And all the world to Doom
Excerpt 1:
With Silent Steps the beasts crept out, Hunting man as their prey
Both Far and wide they ranged about, No purpose but to slay.
Beast slew man and Beast slew Beast, spilling a crimson flood.
They gorged upon their rampant feast, and wallowed in the blood.
All manner of the wicked things, fed ‘til the break of day.
Wrought by forbidden couplings, Sprang creatures fell and fey.
Then Sun returned and spread his light,
Exposing the revels of night.
When Sky saw that, as he had Slept,
Such Blood had Flowed; Sky Paled and Wept.
He Bid it be Covered,
By Mist his Pale Daughter.
Mira reads on, horrified as the theme repeats in greater detail. Eventually, the ‘savage beasts’ form groups to survive against each other. One group in particular emerges as the dominant power, led by something only named as the “Cunning Lord of Beasts”… Humans are slaughtered nearly to extinction, and again the creatures set out for ‘one final hunt’.
Excerpt 2:
The hunt soon found them on the plain, their pain and death to bring,
And those few men that still remain, Surrounded with a Ring.
Yet as the Lord ‘gan strike, he paused. There growing in the mud
Symbolic of their hopeless cause, A purple flower bud!
And then the men, there in the rain; Lo, they began to Sing!
A Dirge-some, Doleful, Dark Refrain; the sound, a wond’rous thing!
And slow lowered the waiting claws, Still stained with human blood.
He called retreat with Savage jaws, And fled the falling flood.
“It’s best we wait, these men we’ll keep
And harvest them like grazing sheep.”
The Cunning Lord composed his plan
To make livestock of humble man.
Man built an earthen wall,
And raised it fast and tall.
Here the work takes a different bent, but keeps the hopeless tone. Humans survive for a time, eking out an existence by building heavily fortified villages and using the landscape to their advantage. The creatures continue to pick some of them off at-will, but have ceased their wholesale slaughter for the most part. The civilization grows and the passage of song becomes a prime element of the culture. Suddenly, Mira’s blood chills as she reads of the appearance of the “traveling folk who tread the mist”. They seek shelter inside the walls in exchange for services… “the telling of futures and reading of dreams”. The locals, suspicious of the gypsies, appear less than hospitable…
Excerpt 3:
“You roam the rolling mist like them!” Loud, the Song-Giver calls.
“Just like the beasts!” He cries again; from safe within the walls.
Yet through the fog a mismatched band, Strange of both hair and eye;
Born far away in unknown lands, from falling dusk did ride.
Hungry Howls of Hate rang then, Outside the Hallowed Hall.
And made a Massive, Morbid Din That o’er the land did fall.
The Strangers Turned with Steady Hands, And Raised their Foreign Cry!
They Formed a Line and made their Stand, Yet Knowing they would Die.
With Swords of Shining Silver Light
And Weapons Forged of Darkest Night
They Stood and Met the Savage Wave
And Many Sent to Earthen Grave.
One by one they meet their death;
The Last, Before his final breath,
The Dying One Defeats
The Cunning Lord of Beasts.
Epilogue:
The Golden Sun Sank Down – Grown Red in his Anger
He Turned his Face Away – And Darkness Settled in
Then Silver Sister Moon – Drew Back her Ebon Veil
Revealing her Pale Face – Full to the World Below.
From the deep forest Now - The Cunning Lord Returns!
And echoes soon Abound – A cold, Triumphant Din!
He cries out to the Moon – Never again to Fail!
As Leader of his Race – Never True Death to know.
Yet they Roam. Yes they Roam. Go Hide in some Dark Hole.
Still they Hunt, Endless Hunt - They only Want your Soul.
Rend the Flesh, Tender Flesh - And cry out to the Moon
To Ravage, Slay and Feed - And all the world to Doom