Old Work

[Inwintersshadow]

Stories and Poems, song and liturgy from past characters I've played. They haven't been seen in a few years I think and thought I would share them again for any who might be interested...



Spider Webs

Wandering

Mother the ale has lost its savor and food...

is like ashes on my tongue.

I have failed you as I have failed all that I love.

The land you entrusted my people lies desecrated your altars...

Tarnished with the night soil of the wronged.

Betrayed by one of our own - those wronged took their vengeance.

On you.

I failed, I failed the land like I failed she whose grave lies before me.

Sullied by vengeance - defiled by hate.

Like some Gondish toy I make my rounds guarding the roads.

I eat and drink though sleep comes harder each eve.

What is the point when everything I love - I touch..... dies?

The Spiderhaunt....?

My feet have led me a journey farther than I cared to make.

Ah Mother!

This blight upon your beauty takes the heart out of me.

Even your Abbey of Golden Sheaves could not ease my spirit.

I have failed myself.

My feet take me where I need to go.

Like a caress I feel the web

A dry touch that clings like an insipid lover...

In my reverie I barely feel it and before I know it...

I am surrounded!

Spiders everywhere large creatures with clicking mandibles and terrible eyes.

Their fangs drip with Talona's fire.

I draw toothpick and raise my shield - friend's gift!

Made by a better man than myself.

I charge laying about me with a will....

Hungry to fight - to kill.....

To finally feel something!

Five fall before me - then ten - twenty lie about me and the web grows tighter...

I am full to the brim with poison.

The cup of my body runneth over...

Shaking I drop both weapon and shield....

Smiling as the spiders overcome me.


The smell of fresh-baked bread and verdant light.

Peace has come.

With hair of spun gold and eyes that should be ashamed of me.

But they are not.

They hold only love and an understanding I do not deserve.

Her blade I keep as I keep her grave.

Death is not for me yet she says.

The poison is gone and with it her.

Her scent lingers on my skin.

The spiders and their webs are gone as if they had never been.

Free from doubt and despair...

The Mother still has work for me.

Though no hero - I am ready!



Chauntea’s Enfolding Arms

Whether pelted with rains of water or arrow-storm
No better shield exists than Chauntea’s enfolding arms.

Her mother’s love heals all

As long as she embraces us
Our hearts shall always have a home.

Whether mighty knight or humble peasant thou art
None are better in her eyes
Her love is for us all - her children

Far and wide

Hated with jealousy and rage
By the gods of strife
Bitter foes are they.

She is above their hate
And this is why they rage.

Loved by the bright god; Lathander – of the sun
His heart warms our goddess’s soul
Our crops are growing-ripening with life.

Chauntea’s love is for all on Toril’s earth
On tilled soil or wild lands
The mighty and the humble both.

None of us will ever truly be alone
Within the Mother’s
Enfolding arms.

Her love does keep us
Safe
And warm.




A Ballad of the Night of Three Knives


Here then is a song of good and of evil, of Daggerdale and the Drow...of life and death....

One rainy night in Daggerdale
A ribbon of spider silk flowed ‘long these roads
With a deadly purpose
Red eyes glinting in the gloom

Amongst these shadowed hills this fell ribbon became three
Upon each strand a Spider lady danced Her knife ready ...to sting!
Black jewels of lethal beauty bedeviled us,
On that curs-ed night

Dark strangers having come to town
Caught us all awry
That night our best gave their lives for those of us that’re left

The first to fall was the Forest Queen’s shrine
In hungry vengeance they attacked
Defiling the cathedral of her forest home

Kale Brows and his guards stood their watch,
Near the Black Road’s Forest Gate -One by one- those brave folk fell
By black-fletched bolt and stealthy blade

Within Lathander’s temple Hanella Rogerlin awaited dawn
then the Drow attacked - Sword spiders struck and demons feasted
upon her faithful ones

While fire licked the temple walls,
a drow high priestess came in lacquer blue array
Hanella battled on with swinging mace and chanted psalm
With a crack of her whip the drow wench joined the fray!

The two danced well, and evenly were matched
But the dark one destroyed the light by her Drow’s treacherousness
Hanella’s blood sprayed the room - the fight for her was done
Her body is lost to kith and kin yet her soul remains her own
-The spider lady raised a bloody knife-

And so fell Daggerfalls

The fields in front of River’s gate were littered with the dead
Freedom Fighters, dalesfolk, and adventurers
slaughtered like cook pot hens

Babras of the Ironstar, wise Dornstag and mighty Mykhal
Dwarf, wizard, and paladin fought through the hellish sprawl
Despite his good companions, brave Babras died

- He was brought back again
the hero’s end was not yet nigh

The Drow then struck Daggersprings poisoned bolts flew fast and far
Overwhelming nature’s warriors - the Daggers bold and hard
Old Manara was lost then, found was she never more
-Another knife; Another knife was splashed with gore-

Rangers, fangs, and villagers - they were torn apart by the Spider Queen’s hungry folk and their deadly art
Screams exploded in the night, wizard-fires roared
Dale Onyers gave his all against a drow priestess’ scourge

Babras came back to Daggersprings in a blinding rage
Because of Drow treachery,
He sought the villains out upon the Black Road again

Last overborne was White Chalk Hollow the village priestess there slain unawares
Her body, treated like a sack of wine -
Was uncorked till it ran clear…

The Drow wrung symbols from her blood - both vile and cruel
Defacing Chauntea’s shrine to taunt her chosen few
Starkly lay the dead - with eyes cold as clay

Concealed by magic and the dark moon’s wink
the Lethal Flower overcame the last holdout of the fruit of Daggersprings
From amongst the children fair Keriwen they stole,
daughter of Arien and granddaughter of Babras bold

Babras found his granddaughter’s kidnappers
not far along near ‘Lake of Shadows’ they
The Lethal Flower’s scion fired a venom bolt Babras staggered to his knees

- Then he smashed the bastard’s teeth!

The wing-ed wench called out to him
a dark kiss from her crossbow passed his ear
half-demon drow and dwarf warrior
Wheeled and clashed an ‘they neared

Dwarven battle rage ‘gainst demon’s might
The end lay not in doubt
Brave Babras bled from a thousand wounds
And then he was disarmed

The warrior dwarf knew he’d die
Herself battered and bruised but barely harmed
The choice seemed clear, even through his venom-fog

Granddaughter Keriwen was doomed sacrificed to dreaded Lolth …
-‘lest he did something soon!

With a cry of outrage his armored form launched them off the pier
the half-demon struggled, within the dwarf’s dying grip
As the poison flung his spirit clear

With frightened eyes,
And trapped within that steely grasp
The Lethal Flower opened her lungs,
and finally … breathed her last!

In death their shadowy forms, entwined and became one
Then sank deeper, down
–Into- the depth’s… and were gone!

Morning’s tears, then streaked the sky…
And Babras’ granddaughter wept …



The Growing Season* (or “Corgrym’s prayer”)

She has hair - like the last sheaf of autumn
That turns to golden fire
In the setting sun.

Her skin is fine and brown;
Soft to the touch as a spring fawn’s.
With eyes that are for drowning in,

A pleasantry to never reach the surface.

And when she smiles
Rare and fine
As a unicorn’s horn it is
When those eyes twinkle in my parlor.

Ah, for a taste of those lips,
A drunkard would swear off the drink
And a gambler his dice!

May she always find a place by my hearthside
To her liking
And a wild woodland to wander in, as she will.

For she has burned the venom
From my poisoned heart
And made my soul whole again.

To bear new fruit
In the
Dawning of her smile.


*As translated from the Dales dialect into standard common



The Promise

Funerary flowers
The words of heroes, friends, and strangers
A wind upon the hill above our house
A unicorn running

This be her land and home forever after
So long as I’ve anything to say about it
A broken bow buried by her side
Her scimitar rests above the hearth
Where we shared many meals and laughter

In my thoughts – in my dreams
She will live always

The White Lady has taken her away
And the key to my heart follows them
It knows its true owner

The key to my door shall be useful still
A promise broken - now kept
A heart shattered - now on the mend

She shall always have a place at this table,
this hearth, and forever:
the whole of my heart

Karin, my friend – my love,
There will be no more goodbyes between us…

We shall meet again
in the House of Nature



The Spiderhaunt in Autumn

Here they skitter there they strike!
Hunting on spindly legs with frightening eyes
And cruel mandibles
The great spiders are massing

Trolls abound here wait and see
With bloody jaws and gaping teeth
They hunt throughout this lonely deep

Under the falling leaves

Their ragged allies
From Talona’s heart
The Tree Blights come
Growing clumps of stick and brush
Quiet as a creeper’s touch

The nights are growing longer

Gray sun and water ‘neath the sky
These woods watch with hungry eyes
For savorier faire than ‘tis it’s soil
Under Autumn’s bedding

Enter the wood at your own risk
When shadows fall about you in the mist
Midst skirling winds watch the shadows – quick!
For it grows fangs here

Travel close to your comrades
Show not your pride or slowly lag
Stragglers are dealt with

By spider’s web and trollish maw
The ‘Blights’ taproots
The hungry sod

Heroes and fools alike
Feed
The blood-dark roots here

Come if you would while day survives
Quickly now ‘fore courage flies

Winter is coming – come!

The wood is hungry


The Fallen One


Snow falls in thick flakes descending through the trees like forlorn angels come to mourn their sister, who’d strayed to a mortal demesne; for her love of the wild lands and its creatures and in defending them from harm was herself slain. Delicately the flakes cover the ravaged beauty of the fallen one – a ranger of Mielikki.

Isendur stands off to the side respectfully and watches for threats. Threats like the owlbears and the worgs they have had to deal with this night. Owlbears like the one poor Karin had been slain by and whom they in turn slew. Without the elf that until recently he had been at odds she would still be lost to them, her fate unknown. Corgrym had grudgingly come to respect the stranger elf, now owing him more than any in the past he’d called friend. It was a debt he intended to repay.

She got in a few good shots he thought and a fine strike with her scimitar against that monster. “Good Girl” Corgrym rumbles softly, his eyes dark and dead like a doll’s; his face frozen emotionless as a marionette’s. The human’s movements recall to the watching elf’s mind a puppet whose strings had been cut and then artlessly retied. The snow falls thickly on the three coating them in a shroud of angel wings, the dead and the living alike.

The big man deftly touches a braid of her hair minding to himself how she wore them so proudly into life’s battles. His features remain like stone; the eyes like glass beads stay cold and still. But his dark skin, gift of a Turmish grandmother is paler now than it was mere moments ago - when they found where Karin had made her last stand. So many things he had wanted for them both…

“Corgrym. Corgrym we must go…. before more scavengers arrive to molest her.” The man nods mechanically to the elf and donning his helm rises heavily to his feet. Then gently he picks the young ranger’s remains up in his arms lifting her easily. Clumsily he follows after Isendur; lost in thoughts of what might have been; if he had fashioned the key he’d promised her sooner. A key to his home and to his heart, which dangled now from a simple silver chain draped around his neck beneath his armor.

The two men walk back to the Black Road without further incident following it all the way to Dagger Falls. There they retain a wagon to carry the young woman’s remains back secure from predators to her teacher; Endyana and her friends back in Hadreth’s Glen. There would be a funeral soon, the location of which Corgrym hoped the Ranger leader would not object to. But that battle was for the morrow, he had not the stomach for thinking right now, as breathing itself seemed a useless chore to him. Thoughts of anything now but her face - before and after this tragedy seem trifles as he drives her wagon to the Glen. The sadness those images bring will trouble the man’s sleep for many years.

One thought though, bee-like, thrusts itself repeatedly into Corgrym’s consciousness. There is a regret he cannot overcome, a cowardice he can never forgive himself for: He had never told Karin he loved her in all their patrols together, in all the meals they had shared, in all those lost moments he had taken for granted. And now, now that it is too late he realizes he will never know how she felt about him either. And that is the cruelest punishment of all…


The Battle Rose

Four feet of hardened oak
Studded with jagged mountain stone
From the Mother’s deepest-strongest bones

Shatters steel helms & warriors – oh!
Never a better club have had I
Than Toothpick
In battle - or at home!

Whether pounding stakes, roofing nails
Or an opponent’s skull

No better club have had I
Than Toothpick – the Battle Rose!

Whether battering shields, helms,
Or a foeman’s bones

No better club have had I
Than Toothpick – Talona’s foe!

Taken from an ogre - the unworthy knave
Malar’s own was he
Left for dead by a more worthy blade

A Circle ranger – scion of the mountain paths
Member of the Daggers strong

He is not coming back

Gift from one friend to another – oh!
To battle the Mother’s ancient foes

With a head and a heart
Of hardened oak
Covered in stony thorns

No better club have had I
Than Toothpick...

...The Battle Rose!

Lament of the Circle of Seven Daggers

Where are the druids of the Rystall?
Where is the circle that was glory?
Where are the fang and the ranger?
…and our tattered stories?
Where are the hand on the bowstring and the feral eyes glowing?
Where are Daggersprings and our harpers?
…and our families - like tall trees growing?
They have burned away like mist in the mountains
Gone like a whisper in the forest
A haze abounds now in the west, midst a fierce shadow stirring
Who shall ease this dread and salve our aching hearts? …for homes that even now in our memories are burning?

Behold, silver tears
Like rain
On the face of our forest…

She, who has always been our mother, will again take us in



The Sappers of Ironstar

T’was down the glen came our proud Dwarven, with picks and shovels slung behind ‘em
An in the pub that we drank our sup or down in the murk you will find us
We sweated blood and we drank down mud with quarts and pints of beer
And now we’re on the march again we’re the Sappers of Ironstar!

We were flayed to the skin in battle when down in the tunnels o’ the grays
With Muckface Mogg I learned the song a broken noggin if you stop for breaks
For the sappers’ god is Dumathoin, who girds ye when yer cut to bits and scarred
And woe to they who look for sleep we’re the Sappers of Ironstar!

I remember the day when Grogar Ohlgrim fell into a basilisk’s lair
What Muckface said when he saw him dead; well it wasn't what an elf’d call prayers
I'm a nasty sod was his one retort that reached unto my ears
When the going is rough, well ye must be tough we’re the Sappers of Ironstar!

I've worked till the sweat near had me dead through mountain, hill and glen,
At battering rams up in the Orcish lands or underneath our clanholds in a hole,
I battled hard and I got me part and many a ganger’s fist across me ears,
If ye’ve pride and spite, join for life, we’re the Sappers of Ironstar!



Young Randal of the Morns


Have you ever wandered the Dagger hills
And heard the leucrottas cry?
Or seen the raven black as night
Upon a windswept sky
To walk a burning desert
or hear our glen winds sigh
To know that Daggerdale's liberty must die

Since the Zhents pushed us hillsward
To live our lowly lives
There's some of us have deemed to fight them
From Desertmouth mountains high
Noble souls with cores of iron
Who are not afraid to die
Who'll fight with our dale's honour held on high

A curse upon you Fzoul Chembryl
You who raped our Mother's land
We'll send you rotting down to Hell
For the horrors that you sent
To our misfortunate forefathers
Whom you robbed of their birthright
"To Hell or Daggerfalls!" may you burn in Hell tonight

Of one such man I'd like to speak
A freedom fighter by name and deed
His family dispossessed and slaughtered
They put a price upon his head
His name is known in song and story
And his deeds are legends still
Hunted for blood money
Was young Randal of the Morns

You have robbed our homes and fortunes
Even drove us from the land
You tried to break our spirit
But you'll never understand
It's the love of our dear old dale
That will forge an iron core
As long as there are gallant men
Like young Randal of the Morns




The Freedom Fighter


T'was here on the cobbled streets
of Daggerfalls...
Hearts of steel
struck off the zhentish yoke!

The foul foe went fleeing,
Stumbling-groaning
before the loyal swords of
Lord Randal Morn.

Hey there Freedom Fighter!
What do they call you?

Who'll clear up this mess,
'now the fighting's over?

The warrior-lord's helm came free
his dark hair was flowing
Eyes like a hawk's stared the ingrate
down.

"We will ye craven, look about you!
Swords alone, won not these walls.
Flashing scythes came leaping
wild brooms a-striking.

The people descended
like
a storm.

Our war is not yet won...
Join or leave,
My name is Randal Morn."



The Drow's Lover


Oh sweet lute,
I must waken thee from the gentleness of thy slumber.
With a full heart our last farewells were taken
and
now in tears I take you up again.

Whilst love did last and pleasure lingered in Brightwater
my love and I; mingled in joy and laughter
‘neath Lady Firehair’s eyes.

We didst savor those notes of leisure,
when our hearts were twinned and beating;
but this love of mine has since been lost forever
under the Spider Queen’s stinging.

My lute alas,
like the lark’s gay morning my own
she is gone as still
as the swan’s decline.
Oh how shall I who cling to a lover lost still invoke thy breath divine?

May Kelemvor with mercy drear allow one kiss from me
descent
to wing its way through death’s dread halls to my lover’s final rest?

Oh Sune above,
pray make him see
for I shall never love again,
the heart I love was dark with sin - I wouldst join her in the spider’s web.

[dergon darkhelm]

That's good stuff, IWS



Now GET IN GAME!

[johnlewismcleod]

Brilliant prose, Inwintersshadow...thanks very much