《The Drakōnikiad》 The Drak艒nikiad: Book I: Ragimmund the Legend I Sing O goddess, Sing of the son of Stavros, I will recount the famous deeds of Bessarion Who at the behest of Basileus Anicius IV fought the worst of the north¡¯s barbarians Further north than the Herakleian-Mountains in the Dragon of the field Didst his fine armies make the enemy yield Such was the vanity of Ragimmund the Old, So that of all men he was the most bold, Heavy was the doom laid upon him, Scornful of those whom would send him to his tomb Thereon the fields of the Dragon, Therapon¡¯s oracle, he did madden. Thus upon the Drake horn¡¯s call, He would thus fall, No long time after, A banquet he would share, His vast kin without compare, Few to none did despair. Slow was his son¡¯s son to lower his gaze, Ever watchful if never dazed, Romanus was he named, Roma his father¡¯s spirit had enflamed, Unfettered by wickedness, Unmatched in goodness, Valorous in deeds as in nature, To anger as a glacier, Yet swift to prayer, Thus have I described the greatest raider, Of a line of mighty raiders, O how the gods did bless his ancestors. Blazen haired Romanus breaker of horses alone did consider her words. Thus was the nature of Romanus Steel Arm, That he sought to shield his kin from harm, The heir as former bards relate, By the favour of Zisa, destined to be great Now I shall sing of the line of Ragimmund, From the valley of Gormfiata, Came Theomund, who of old held the favour of Feronia, Who begat him in the land of mount Gormfiata, Great were the many deeds wrought in their wanderings, May the muses aid me in the capturing of their glory. II Bold as Mars was Theomund, Swift as Mercury fleet-foot, Clever as Odysseus who did much endure, Great as a dragon, In days of olde, when men were of same worth to gold, From his first steps he was hounded, As one who has astounded all with some grave crime Thus did he survive in the grime Deprived of dignity and sire, Whom the goddess did so desire. Born amidst snow and grief, Discarded as might a thief, An unwelcome false bauble, Neither did he crawl nor hobble, But since earliest days didst leap and stride Left at mountain¡¯s foot Where none hold themselves aloof Thereupon high stone near where the lions abode, Dost stand to his lip she bestowed Leonine milk and love All whilst sweet Farona, in shape of dove, Didst observe, Many a songs he dost deserve Such was the majesty upon which he built name and fortune without guilt. Long was his voyage O¡¯er land and hill So that he didst forage Til he had his fill Of his father¡¯s men, both savage and loyal Many of the slavers he didst kill From Menelay the Proud, the joyous Slayer of infants, this he didst delight and thrill The unworthy king of Jarnmund ere the royal Theomund didst in his hall, amidst marble gild Gold bejeweled that left all joyous There Theomund by water most mild, didst kill. Of Agretius, none now sing Because he is no longer King Many a screams Theomund didst wring Within his halls, whilst courting The Queen who in preceding Days had by needle and thread spent her days decorating, Of his myriad weeks indulging In food and affairs, many are the tales that ring His story in those cruel days, Thurius from the Northern Plains didst spring His gaze fierce as a blaze, Giver of many a ring, Ne¡¯er one to stand in a daze, None were more daring Into the Persean Plains he didst raid As was his wont dispensing Treachery and butchery, that his name might ne¡¯er fade O how Thurius the most slathering Of his father¡¯s killers, flames barely did abate This be why, of his evil we do still sing, In these lands, Theomund of fond memory, Many a-century Before, who didst make many a-enemy, Swept into camp amidst flame, Lo! He broke all serenity, Therein the dead of night, neither incrementally Nor didst he appear coincidentally, Thus, by blade that he didst wield cleverly, He laid many a men into lowly filth and earth, made of them but a memory, Thurius who trapped by reverie Who by sombrely Cast slumber, slept whilst his enemy fought betterly Than son and brothers to Thurius who cast such a disparity All broke to fly, no matter their hereditary Chieftain who in prior years slew every enemy, One and all, until nary A one could wield blade ordinarily Or extraordinarily, Lo! Theomund the most exemplary, Of warriors by now accustomed to regularly fought wars and feuds, due to filial fidelity At last laid into lowly earth and filth, Thurius who slew Fallronus by reason of jealousy, Thirty years priorly, At present with valour, To house-ruins of dour, Memories that induced fury in days of yore, Such was Theomund¡¯s inheritance that yearly, Weighed heavy upon more Than simply his shoulders made weary By age that didst bury Many, and hour by hour, Greater and greater glory, Was made Theomund¡¯s who in vigour Remain¡¯d tested yearly, All while his wisdom in old lore, Grew and grew alongside his glory, This was his lot, All while worldly flesh began to rot, When an evil thought, Came to men whom the evil knot That bound them to him, wished undone, ¡®It has indeed run Full course so that now what fear belongs to far-flung Past, and courage must now be wrung From us, as might from a she-wolf draw milk, Just as from a tape-worm silk Is drawn, and made in bulk In northern Lyonesse, where brick upon brick, ¨¦luan built his myriad palaces, He of the many gold chalices, So sayeth the sons of Thurius who gave way to fallacies Of the maddest sort, to repay the damages That Theomund inflicted upon them, In olden days when the stem Had been planted, and Theomund took their realm, And the frontier didst o¡¯erwhelm, III Brief was his kingdom, That he garnered by wisdom As by valour, And his people¡¯s rigour, Steel tipped blades aplenty, Used by many men who succumbed to war-frenzy, That they might sleep Bellies full and ne¡¯er leap From bed to sword Thereby the northern sward, In fear as in apprehension And that they might grow in comprehension, Of all things natural, And break from pure pastoral Livings, in favour of wooden-keeps, That took many weeks To build, from foundations to roof Built as much by men¡¯s backs as horse hoof, At night as by secrecy, Each of them sharing equally In the crime, though none felt guilty, To barbarous minds this sneakily This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Done misdeed be the most naturally Performed crime in history, Up the stairway they creakily Went, up the fort their hypocrisy Took them, they went in utmost secrecy, Few they crossed, for many had drunk equally To the other, little knowing that they had drunkenly Imbibed wine drugged most unnaturally, Lo! How they began their butchery Whilst noble Theomund slept the dreamy Sleep of the righteous, His reverie Shared by his granddaughter who fearfully Clung to him, for fear of her nightmares that had cheekily Taunted her, to her grandmother¡¯s irritation, she in full leniency Welcomed her, and awoke in supremely Disturbed horror that greedily Ate and devoured her every Tear and scream, which ceaselessly Echoed across myriad halls, ere her fearfully Screamed cries echoed weepily, Of their butchery, many do still whisper, Of Theomund many fond speeches still linger, His goodness many crimes didst hinder, Such his wisdom most barbarians and Dorians do remember, In manner most tender, Such be the love they still bear with such ardour That his name shall ring forever Down through the centuries, and through the winter Of Theodosianople and her every tower, Many the armies he didst render To naught forever, And feed to the crows whether in summer Or in autumn, ne¡¯er to linger Thereupon battlefields where tears shower From feminine cheeks to water each flower That grows by every corpse, many an hour Ago, When men didst not cower, Such be their courage they didst tower High o¡¯er their children of dour Mood and mien most sour, Hereupon his pyre, Cyneberht didst shower Coin and plum-peddles that the flames didst devour, From high walls to bower, The hungry fire in equanimity didst devour, Ne¡¯er to return home to mother Or dearly beloved father, Ragimmund turn¡¯d away his grief in full flower, IV Of Cyneberht son of Eadberht much be to tell, The poets and bards do still yell, And pray tell O Singers of Olde, of the doer of many deeds most fell, Of he who left Bruno in his death-knell, The butcher who didst most excel In days of yore all who dwell In north-flung lands, in the most fell Of misdeeds, all save Cyneberht who last bid him farewell By the mountain Nymph¡¯s well, V¨®reia was her name she who cast such a spell Upon Karlmund, and who gave him love and bell, Ere he was made to repel Old Karlmund, ere the other man didst quell His band, wherefore Cyneberht all still tell Sent him down to Queen Hel, Whereupon Cyneberht was struck by such a spell, That he didst all other men excel And in her eyes above all others seem to swell In deeds most brave and fell, That men will tell A thousand years hence, when all shalt dwell In ethereal lands, of many fields and many a well Of Theomund¡¯s loss, minstrels weep Until tears an ocean deep, Hath been shed and sorrow high as the greatest heap Or Mountain, All while his son didst so leap From field to field away from the keep, That didst once guard him from all that dost creep In darkest and foulest night, those guards who once didst sweep From shade to shade, to keep Safe the sons of Theomund, that he might not reap Savage harvest of steel and none may sneak From barbarous outlands, into solid keep, Greatly Theomund once wander¡¯d from valley to farm full of sheep, That none may weep Or lack for protection, and be lain onto a heap Of dirt before his time, and may only sleep When ready by own volition to sleep And to in his own bed reap, All that he should wish sweep To himself and retain more than solely sleep, V Away to the wild, Went Cyneberht, the child In his arms away from defiled Halls great and wide, Ruined by those most reviled, By the good for these be men bedeviled By wicked hearts most unmild In nature, for by evil they be beguiled, And thus they beguiled, Men strong and of mild Character, such be the mind Of those sworn to the enemy, who appalled All other men, both civil and wild, Cyneberht though no less mild Than those he loved, and with whom he once lived, Out into the wilderness they arrived, Near where many men once died, By the river V¨®reia beside The Mountain that once surprised That warrior Cyneberht, who full of pride Didst challenge wild Nymph¡¯s wits for the fate of the child, This she agreed and smiled, ¡®By what means might men Claim that which is not their own, And that dost bend Them to its whims ere they be thrown From reason that they might lend Themselves their children and all else they own,¡¯ ¡®That which ye speak be coin,¡¯ The captain Cyneberht didst rejoin, This ere he was to disappoint Her high hopes, when he didst not refrain His own query, ¡®What do men anoint, that they might appoint, Those who half shalt disappoint, And the other half enjoin And bathe them in glory, and give them a voice Before those who appoint And offer them no choice,¡¯ Bewildered by this query, Alarmed by this merry Guard, consumed by the weary Duty laid upon him, she of the vast prairie In the valley of the mountain valley, Gave way to his victory Though it ran contrary To her innermost desire which she didst marry Though it weigh¡¯d heavy Upon her, already By this time weary And angry, They in spite of being wary, Took up this most wondrous victory In the most merry Of mood, relieved even as she refused to ferry Them across her waves, so that they paid for her to ferry, And thus it was that they fled in a most unmerry Of mood, properly chastened and wary Of what she might demand of them after she didst ferry Them o¡¯er waves fierce, strong and unwieldy, As they reached the shore They looked back on days of yore Recall¡¯d ancient lore, Fearful that she might bore Into their bones and recall them to the fore Of her watery depths, both prepared for war, Their innermost core Deep and strong, they as always didst ignore Fear which is that which dost pour Itself upon the core Of all men, and weaken them more Than all else might, Knowing this, for He was no fool, he was to once upon the shore Turn to Ragimmund ne¡¯er one to ignore Now the chance to teach him, ¡®Observe and learn this lesson Learn the manly arts that ye dost not lessen In this he didst give expression, To that most manly profession, That which requires the utmost aggression,¡¯ This he didst whilst he held him in an expression Of such paternal tenderness, as to convey the essence Of all he felt, all while he gave myriad suggestion To the boy who didst offer up in confession, No less an expression Of affection, Lo! He said ne¡¯er wouldst their bond lessen No matter what aggression, They might summon Against those who might sow division, Theirs was a most sacred bond of utmost affection, VI By love as by duty, They were noosed, Many the years truly Wherein their foes wert loosed Upon the land where he explored fully, Land which he perused, In the most unruly Manner imaginable, that doomed Many before him, and which he truly Didst inherit from Theomund, Just as he pass¡¯d it to his unruly Sons, by whom his foes fumed At and didst fully Consider no less Vicious than their utterly Indomitable sire, whom they wert no less fearless Than, such was their truly Great fame for valour and nobility, Thrice sworn, To just cause and hard-bitten road, One by age greatly worn, The other his shoulders¡¯ still broad, That shall ne¡¯er be shorn Of strength or slow¡¯d By illness nor the thorn, Men dub age, that other men showed Whether high or low born, That in ancient and new days slowed One and all, be they in the world¡¯s dusk or morn¡¯ Such be mortality that leaves all bowed, Lo! Didst the youth shorn Of hearth and home vow¡¯d That he might someday return, whether young or worn, This oath he roared That the heavens that had borne Witness to countless dauntless deeds and men unbow¡¯d Might see his deeds in dusk and morn¡¯ That he vow¡¯d To undertake that of courage he might ne¡¯er be shorn, VII In youth, as in dotage he ne¡¯er wept, And ne¡¯er he slept Always he crept That he might the enemy¡¯s home wreck, And make certain they hath fled From hearth and home, and prove himself adept In war, as his ancestors against the inept, Thus he leapt, From battlements high, while others slept, And still many others crept, This they didst under his banner, that leapt With the wind, and swept O¡¯er the battlements that many had once wept O¡¯er, and which had been kept Well-preserved in good memory of incredible depth As in actual fact, Such be their greatness, yet still the theft Of Theomund¡¯s fort many decades before, when all wert fed Well and truly, Such that bereft Of good times, only misery spread Now throughout the lands, as butter upon bread, Bread the masses unfed In sleep as in waking hours many wert left Utterly to the warlords¡¯, bereft Of mercy and pity that those left To the utter dread Of those they dubbed lords, spread Throughout darkened lands, keen to spread Death to those guilty of theft Of their lord¡¯s lands, he who lost his head By unjust blades, to Hraban the Red And his wicked brothers, whom lay abed Unknowing of the thread Of destiny they had bred, Yet still Ragimmund from battle ne¡¯er fled, So that though he ensured they bled, Right honourably he fought the Red, Lo! All wert left Neither whole but dead, And to the flames he fed The keep of that which Theomund once held, Of his mother Ragimmund knew precious little, Lesser than his father, yet of nobler blood By far, she ne¡¯er didst whittle At his reason or noble deeds that wert the root Of which many women choose to fiddle, That they might weaken a child¡¯s mind¡¯s food, Just as might their fathers¡¯, those whom fate dost riddle With flaws aplenty, and dost loot Of all sense, leaving children with naught but spittle In them that the gods might exclude Them from Elysium realm of the most beneficial Men and peoples, lo! long didst she brood, All while she spun clothe by fingers most virile, In the keep thereupon the hill that didst include A moat of flames one that didst so bristle At men of good nature, and held a sorrowful-mood, Such that men of the most little Valour not of the line of Hrambert the Good, Didst quaver and swivel Upon their steeds though she was the least rude Of the northern lines, that which Dominated the north and didst feud With a great many of the witch¡¯s Line and didst much to root Out the sons of Hrambert, and filch Them of all they had in lewd Spirits unjustly stolen from those less rich, Wealthy and good, They won this by the slaying of the witch And her brood, Ne¡¯er valorous, ne¡¯er loyal, She didst thus defile, All that is sacred, When her sons¡¯ fates she refused To share, and left them to suffer, This she didst and ne¡¯er didst utter Other than curses, And a great many verses Against those Ingram call¡¯d kin, Ere their ranks she didst thin, Thus she didst foil Their victory, and leave them to boil In defeat, His tale one replete With such heroism, That he achieved by way of wisdom, Of his many wars, Against scores Of Ingram¡¯s sons, along northern shores, Against they and Dwarves Most fell, he didst lunge, He whom their father abhors, Many implores Time and again, under the sons¡¯, For she that adores, Justice and wars, He show¡¯d little pity before the walls, Of their cities, This fathers And sons¡¯ Ne¡¯er didst forget nor could ignore, VIII Of Ingunn¡¯s father, men also speak well, For him many art the bells¡¯ that toll still, Therein the far north where the Valtherii dwell, They for whom life depends on will, By steel and fury they thrive, They whom drink fine wine and swill, In eager spirits, that which dost revive Even the least lively Of folks, and whom far and wide Hath all hear¡¯d his finely Woven tales which abound even in fair Doria, He of the most lightly Disposition that ne¡¯er inspired nausea In his foes, as he rightly Lived therein the north, away from arboreal Civilization that didst eradicate dishonesty, Many the dread beasts they in memorial Of blood most innocently And unjustly slain, that they might on manorial Earth and those wildly Untamed that they might by primordial Sense of right, lay in lowly Manner those monsters forged by bestial And unearthly Hands, those sons of Hydra That Herakles didst not justly Lay low, they slew and after the Hydra¡¯s Brood the mightiest of wickedly Wrought cubs of multi-faced wolves, Those many they slew decidedly, As easily by arrows that pierce doves, Of his son¡¯s claims to fame, He who none couldst tame, Nor seize and take, Ingomar was his name, Father and son, whose glory ne¡¯er didst wane, Both brought to shame, By the bitter flame Of Kunibert who didst defame The son and his bride, that most famed dame Leutgard, of renown¡¯d beauty, that all didst proclaim The fairest dame In all of the land, she of unlimit¡¯d fame, She whom Kunibert didst profane, That he might slake His hunger for her mane As he didst for her name, Lo! The untold pain He didst inflict upon her, why none couldst explain, Though he had little to gain, Such was his profane Nature that he didst so maim Her in spirit and fame, Ingomar didst venture To seize in northron forests, The shadow¡¯d King, Who by his seizure Of the dainty lady who in abhorrence Of him, didst cry and sing In a flurry of tears of how he didst censure Her by word as by actions, And whom had by dint Of these sacrilegious errors Won for himself, the abhorrence Of Ingomar and his father the King, That they might thus spread terror To he who unleash¡¯d evil in torrents, Lo! The vast number of those he didst fling, To their doom out of fervour For cruelty such be the way of tyrants, By strangulation as by swordsmanship, He didst demonstrate refusal to worship He who sought to steer the ship Of tribal states, away from steady waters To murky places ere he falters Between wicked glee, and uncertainty to please his daughters, They whom didst seize command, Ere they made endless demands Of men and beasts, through the land, Aflame came he, to hearth and home, Ere he set aflame, after years wherein he didst roam, He and his father, aid¡¯d by many a gnome, Those Elves that didst love always blade And slaughter, and didst bade Lord and daughters farewell, ere they set them aflame, IX Lo! The glories of the line of Kings, Who didst precede Theomund King They who as he didst give over many rings, They that glittered in spite of the many sins Countless in nature, Due to the rupture That didst occur Betwixt they and Doria, which sought to nurture Peaceable bonds and good cheer, That they might rear That which men hold most dear, And be kept away from the leer Of vicious, cruel war and her grasping hands, That might tear apart countless lands, This was the line of Ingunn¡¯s kin, Thick was their blood, And their heroics ne¡¯er didst thin, Their ways rude, Wert to rule O¡¯er all the Valtherii, mightiest of the tribes, Alone they refused Dorian bribes, By dint of strength, As by their lives¡¯ length, They wert most revered, Yet ne¡¯er didst they endear Themselves amongst their neighbours, Such was their labours, In days previous, That they fulfill¡¯d by devious Means, that they might lord o¡¯er northern woods, That neither hurricane nor floods, May o¡¯er take and destroy, Just as no god may disrupt their joy Or so they didst claim, And ne¡¯er to reclaim That which they held dearest, And which lay nearest, Of these great deeds, None of them destined to mislead In judgment or in act those they freed, Of a far greater breed Than most, they wert ne¡¯er to lead to the weeds, Or into the fens, nor make bleed Their own, such be their creed, As Kings of olde, that they sought to exceed One another in deed As in songs told o¡¯er mead And hallow¡¯d halls, such be their creed, That they had need To do so, this none disagreed, For all agreed, That their shared glory didst supersede That of the individual¡¯s greed, And profaned need To be heard Above the voices of the rest, that they might mislead Their kindred and all those of shared breed, Such be the northern barbarians creed, And magnificent ways, Lo! They ne¡¯er be weak-kneed, Nor didst they revealed In high and lowly acts, ill-conceived Glories, but rather well achieved, And ne¡¯er keen to hath review¡¯d Their own actions, such be their high-achieved And highly agreed, Yet all such deeds Wert acclaimed All throughout the most wide Of lands of Doria also, and thus they wert widely well-received, X Much affect¡¯d wert the warrior¡¯s Line that claim¡¯d a hero¡¯s Fame, won by many wars, As by heroes Of olde, who more than courtiers, That so awed the victorious Champions¡¯ who won glories Untold and unheard of to noble Dorians, Treacherous as praetorians Noble as champions, Such be the honour of barbarians, Along the north¡¯s coasts, They didst toast And roast, Pigs and cows, and boast Of wealth unequalled, gotten by they and their devotees, The finest of hosts, None dared to suggests, They be the worst Of men and lords that exist In the north, greatest of north-folks, Barbarous as beasts, Lo! The vastness of Ragimmund¡¯s tribe, That didst in war didst thrive, All whilst they strive East that they might contrive Always to seek to derive Glory and satisfaction from war and strife, That their enemies might describe Their peoples and deride Them as barbarous, ne¡¯er didst deprive Them of their own opinion, or leave them cover¡¯d in hives, Such be their indifference and glory, their design, Where might they thrive? Why in the wilderness, where all must survive, And what be their wilderness where they strive? Why in battle, that be where they derive Satisfaction and joy, These be the ancestors Of whom to this hour All sing still, Their ancient glories Their lives incomparably dour Neither farmers nor mills Wert they, nor cowards, Fierce as lions, ne¡¯er didst they sour And shake, or wear frills, Such was their courageous Disposition and valour, XI O Goddess let us sing now Of the heroism of Ragimmund the Bold, Of how in his youth Ragimmund didst slay the most foul, Ne¡¯er one to fold Before King, lord or duke, Always didst he choose, Fierce and bold, three ladies he didst woo, Ne¡¯er once didst he lead them to woe, Save for the Lady of Demo¨¦ She whom many sought to woo, And who was most true To Ragimmund, after he didst pursue She and others, this she knew Yet still she chose him, so that she didst subdue Her own envy, and gave him not a few Children, but a great many that didst dispute Doria¡¯s claim to northern lands all knew To be true, Of the Lady Rufiana, his mighty wife, The Red Lady, Who gave for him her life, And ne¡¯er gave way to lazy Habits or lax morality, who gave in gift the knife Of her father¡¯s father, fond was his memory Of that day, though it be rife With strife and hazy Peace, that bespoke to a poor life One that he might regret and fight To redeem from, and in this he was ne¡¯er lazy, XII Many wert his heirs¡¯, And many their own heirs, Not a one short of hair, Ne¡¯er fearful and always keen to dare Where others might not fare Half so well, and might despair, First among them was the Fair-hair¡¯d Adalwin, whom he didst rear To greatness and majesty, for he was heir, Adalwin, mighty and fierce, Didst father thrice The sons of others; Stavros, ?lfstan and Bertrand, each one a prince Of greatest virtue, who ne¡¯er shirked from conflict, Adalwin who¡¯s spear didst pierce Foe and villain, and hero alike, myth And legend that he was, he who fill¡¯d many with bliss His bravery none e¡¯er could dismiss His spear like Gungnir, ne¡¯er didst miss, Always didst it pierce, Not once but thrice, All who didst oppose the mightiest of Ragimii¡¯s princes, Stavros came next, Ne¡¯er was he at rest, Always he didst vex, His wits such that he didst perplex, Even the finest of generals, against Whom he didst test, Always didst he best, Them no matter if from east or west, His greatness many came to expect, Always his nobility his prisoners didst express Admiration for, and always didst respect, Of his axe, none didst suggest Was any less Sharp, than that of his perfect Brother, whom he ne¡¯er didst object To, or place himself against, Such be the beauty of their brotherly bond, that they ne¡¯er didst vex Nor wish to see the other put to rest! Of Theomund the third child, The fiercest in battle and most wild, Barbarous and long-bearded, yet mild Of mood, yet easily the most beguil¡¯d, By womanly charms, as by gestures most kind, Thus he didst depend upon Stavros, and required His guidance, though of the reviled It where women wert concerned, such was how he lived, Of his sons, nine there wert! And well-defined They all wert, each one derived Their nature from their brave and kind Father; of Ragimos the eldest and least kind, Minstrels still whisper¡¯d When last in the north and west Went I, and of Theowin of immense pride, And quick to anger, his guide And younger brother, Theomund the Younger, who didst ride Far and very wide, Both born of one mother, she who obliged Her predecessor with poison, and whom all feared, Next came Sugimmond the Kind, All didst love him far and wide, ?lfwin of the lovely bride, Whom always didst quarrel and despised Those who longed for his bride, Sixth was the pride Of the pack, and least despised, Cynesige the seer, who revised Always his father¡¯s schemes, and advised, Seventh was the mountain-sized Chlodulf the Strong, fierce-eyed, Eighth Burghead the most refined, Always he longed for the south that he eyed Wistfully, best of all musicians of those inscribed In the lineage of Ragimmund, ne¡¯er he lied, Ninth Dunstan who thrived In ill and misfortune of others, such be how he lived, Next came Eadwig, always eager for a quarrel, He of the most feral Temper, and most foul strength that endures all peril, Set before him, and left many sterile Cadavers, such be his glory and more than several Deeds of utmost heroism, Thence came Eileifr the Devious, Where the previous Brothers good and true, Eileifr was lascivious, Offering the least amount of obedience, His daughter though easiest To name, was also the least obsequious, She of the kindliest Of mien, and most ferocious of warriors, The Lady Farahild, most beauteous Of the shield-maidens of the north-west, Faroald the youngest of all, Who ne¡¯er didst suffer the same fall, Mighty in arms, and limbs tall, The minstrels still do recall, How he ne¡¯er didst crawl, But rather galloped, and raced, until the final Days and hours stood before him, and he with a pall O¡¯er his head threw himself forward, no one¡¯s thrall, Of these mighty sons Ragimmund was utterly proud, Ne¡¯er didst he fall foul To rage or to lay upon their women-folk their shrouds, To leave their men bow¡¯d, Without reason or honour, such was his spirit made profound By faith as by manly nature, even as he was foul And cruel when enraged, and of untamed faith and quick to wound Those around him, such was his nature proud, For this as for much else, his women wouldst bear their shrouds, And his sons¡¯ would be left unproud, Grandchildren to sorrow bound, Such was the price of his greed that didst resound To Doria as to heaven, and o¡¯er the waves and mounts, Book 2: Captains of the North - Or the Storming of the River I Mighty in arms, wert Ragimmund¡¯s ilk, Who didst from the north, filch All that Aecheans¡¯ held dear, whether it Was made of gold, silver or sewn with silk, Freely flow¡¯d the blood of his foes not unlike milk From livestock, lo! How quick His men-folk wert by blade as in the thick Of battle! Victories they built as one might lay a brick Upon one another, each one ne¡¯er to filch And steal from one another, each one kith And kindred, each of them quick To concord, and even more swift, Though born north of the river that cast a rift Betwixt the upper and southern lands and cliffs, Though barbarous none wert adrift, Those who came south, along with westron filth, To raid and skirmish fierce as silk Is soft, that they might filch Gold, lives, fierce and quick, Ioan son of Blagoslav, strong as an ox Was his arm, thick his shoulders, Who when a-horse was always aloft, His blows rained down as boulders Might upon e¡¯ery foe, The very mightiest of warriors, Ne¡¯er meek as a doe, Their hearts many which smoulders Still with valour that can only grow, As they did defy the chief most of warriors, Of the eastern most tribes to throw Themselves forward against courtiers And guards a-horse, as accustomed to snow As to mud and cliffs, was Ioan who as boulders Might be, was inevitable and didst flow Through rank after rank of the Dorians, His grandfather¡¯s grandfather, fierce and defiant, From the most northerly land He came, his axe in hand, Thus Jusuf arrived from the hinterlands, No less great than his forebear, and no less grand, Upon e¡¯ery brow he didst brand His heavy mark, such was his might that he didst dance About the battle throughout the land, He and his band, More than one strand Of Ragimmund¡¯s men in grand Manner fought along the sward and land, Of the most southerly river-strand, These men, chiefs of the east, Their wing in flight, Swarmed forward that they might feast, Upon their enemies, and blight Their lands and reap, What ought to be their delight, That they might reach, By way of war of unright Manner, those lands west Of newest sea, that of little vice, This conquest fill¡¯d them with zest Of the most hearty and joyful life, ¡®Twas why they and the rest Of those that follow¡¯d them wert rife For chaos, anarchy as they didst test Themselves against wind, and the rest Of the river, and southron men, II Also from the north, Came forth, Jonatan the Bold of immense worth, He who ne¡¯er didst fold Whether in battle or to the mould Of other men, such his spirit¡¯s might, this it must be told, That in days of olde, His was the least controlled Of men, yet also the most extoll¡¯d Where loyalty and discipline or so the poets told, This didst happen in days of olde, When men treasured land and gold Above life and clothes, Only tales told By poets of olde, Didst they treasure most, Many wert the boasts, That he had made, none of them gross Or squalid, or false, each one of the most Superb quality, and didst well decorate the throat This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Of many bards, who made note And learnt both by rote As by affection, his many deeds of note, That won him many toasts On many a nights, and among many hosts, So that he was ne¡¯er lost, In those days or in later ones, from hosts Of the most honourable sort, that he may boast The greatest of deeds, and most extoll¡¯d Of natures, his was a disposition of greatest And most valued worth, Chief-most of all warriors, Mightiest of heroes, His rage still smoulders, Who hunted many does, Many whom lifted boulders And in defiance of all woes, That didst visit themselves upon their warriors, This, men of all stripes whispers Still in admiration of the man who withers Rivals and foes alike, the fiercest Of all wolves destined To Ragimmund swears Oaths, the strongest Imaginable such was the mightiest Of Men¡¯s worthiest Of deeds, and courageous name, that not the youngest By nature, or by dint of deeds, he was all swears One of the greatest, Pulled from the bloodiest Of fields, as he was from legend¡¯s most famous Of tales that stretch to such lengths to be the longest, This men didst sing in loudest Tones and in the proudest Of voices Of Jonatan the Mightiest Of vanguard captains, And the very finest Of masters of the blade, and worthiest Of foes to the captains Of the Varangians, that stood tallest, And wielded the steeliest Of axes, and wore the finest Of hauberks, Of Jonatan¡¯s father, he who didst run Throughout the forests¡¯ under the suns, Across many lands he flung Himself, he and his father who wrung From many blood and glory, that none Could e¡¯er question His greatness, so that many songs were sung, And many more yet to be spun, Noble was he, and about his neck hung Until his death, when from his lungs And from this mortal-coil he was wrung, This his son stung, Even as the death of his own father stung Him, when in the grips of youth, Yet now no longer the youth He once was, he flung Blow after blow, upon those who stung His father to death, and hung His battered corpse in far-flung Woods, and left cow-dung By its feet that it stunk And all wouldst run From it, yet not Jonatan who wrung From them every droplet of just And righteous fury, his father ne¡¯er unjust, Ne¡¯er one to wrong or fill his lungs With corruption, so the bards hath sung, Dorian and barbarian they sung And sing still, of those lands he didst lunge Forward for, and didst hunt Men across, and didst overcome, III From the Wiess-River, surged the wolf, Across a great gulf He came, might was he full Of, even as he was brimful Of manly honour, beard thick as wool, Ne¡¯er anyone¡¯s fool, His hatchet his tool, Ne¡¯er to let rage engulf Reason, save when in the cusp Of glory¡¯s indignation, In a great huff He wouldst not allow there a gulf, For any to lull Away from him, those his axe might cull, From this life, if in spirit dull, That his chieftain might well rule, And that they might drool And salivate and feast in true Fashion upon the Empire, and all it didst engulf, The wolf he was dubbed, Ne¡¯er one to be lull¡¯d From duty, or bullied By gods or men, his honour unsullied, Many wert those he harried, Many those his sword flurried, Swift as a bolt of thunder he hurried, Ne¡¯er once dallied The warrior, or his father who bloodied When arose the need Of his chieftain, always he defended, Thus Jusuf and his father didst succeed Where others failed, The two destined to ne¡¯er be sullied, Whether it be by honour, or gutted By dishonourable murder, both unwearied By his nature, he was utterly ruled Only and solely, lest he be domesticated, As wicked men are wont, and so diminished, Lo! The wolf¡¯s steel fangs are bared, His barest form of being revealed, And his might thus flared Across the land, and his foes punished, As was right and good, Born about the river, That didst in olden times deliver, Countless the men he didst render To naught, by blade that shone silver That in the suns¡¯ light didst glimmer, And with its own light glitter, So that it call¡¯d hither All who might seek to pilfer Its master¡¯s life, such was his nature, So great didst his warrior Nature gleam and glitter, That men might higher Than the heavens elevate their Selves and their fellows, by war, nature As by the sword¡¯s silver Song that didst once echo and titter Throughout all the lands, its wielder No less grand, and no less austere, His father threw himself, Into the woods, That he might find the Elf That was master of many elixirs, And better his father¡¯s health, Unlike tricksters Who desire only wealth For themselves, and ne¡¯er to share the tinctures Or the good health With others, Thus it was that the Elf Whom he sought, made him the mixtures, Yet always there is a price to Elf Lore, And the price for the elixirs Remains unknown, when his health Began to fail, he vanished for parts Unknown and remains¡¯ unfound To this day, This man likewise named Jusuf of the Wiess-River, Who when Ragimmund first reign¡¯d, Served faithfully and ne¡¯er didst differ, Always he deigned To neither defy nor bicker With the man who reign¡¯d, Such was how he didst differ From others, for his fidelity was not feign¡¯d, So that his master Great and might, was ne¡¯er pain¡¯d To doubt his loyalty, or courage ever, Such was the unfeign¡¯d And faithful nature Of Jusuf, of most famed Memory, and his leal father Both of whom Were cherished by Ragimmund the Grey IV To the west they stood, To the south they look, Ne¡¯er their lords they forsook, Though they be loathe, To before battle fold, When south they might flood, And spill the blood They thirsted for, such was their rude Ways, that they thirsted for land, mud And to rule O¡¯er all that they might draw into their fold, Theirs was the bold Ways of barbarians, such their rude And backwards ways, Though ne¡¯er dull In wits wert they, Those that await¡¯d wert to be full Ones, for their brightest days Wert they said yet ahead, true Many wert the ways That they thought this to be true, As horses they didst bray, So that many civilized men rue Their presence there to this day, Into this gap plunged The warrior who always First into danger lunged Where another dallies, Rarely wert his foes at ease, When they sought across the valleys¡¯ Born by the river that dost feast Upon Doria¡¯s green glories, Raiding the land with such expertise, Pressing to the great worries Of the Dorians, who fearful of disease And barbarians, fell back in a great flurries None keen to perish before these Barbarous tribesmen, A thousand steel fangs Bared and the fields Hardly barren rang, Many wert brought to their heels, More chose more narrow paths, Quick to claim a great many yields From those that dashes O¡¯er vast unwieldy fields, Across crimson fields, O¡¯er the river, Ne¡¯er once yields The mighty captains, ne¡¯er to bicker, Ne¡¯er to relent in the fields Or to let themselves differ Whilst they tore through yonder Ranks, Cutting here and thither, Ne¡¯er failing, they wert to ne¡¯er Allow the most bitter Of fruits, to dampen and delay Them from their advance, and their Terrible conquest of yon river, By Jusuf the wolf-slayer, And Jonatan the axe-wielder, Along with Ioan the most legendary Of captains, each of them enjoy¡¯d the favour Of their ferocious master, V Thereupon emerald rises, Along the thickest bog, There where the river arises, In defiance of war¡¯s fog, Few wert its guises, Trickery rarely didst it flog Against those that slices O¡¯er it and didst mock, Its myriad vices, Visible as men didst hop And flood and in small and great sizes Reduced to slop, Their foes didst slide Down from top To muddy low-tide, Their cries carried aloft, And emerald rise, Great was the wroth, Of all those near the rise, Though dragon-standards Held by men fierce as salamanders, Of golden make and glitter Wert their standards, that dost glimmer And shine, bright as the suns¡¯, Defiant as lions¡¯ wert the sons¡¯ Of Doria, who in days of olde Sought more than just gold, They fought for conquest as for land, Seizing by their own hand, What they might gain, Yet ne¡¯er to inflict mindless pain, This though the barbarians held them in disdain, And wouldst feign, Take what was theirs by right, By way always of might, They hoped to make a fight Of all things, if only to blight The savage foe, Who unlike a doe, Ne¡¯er shied away, For an hour or a day, VI Theirs was the first clash, They the first to dash, This because they wert most rash, Of Ragimmund¡¯s command, this in a flash All didst know, from the first to the last, From their first breath, to their last rasp, That only cowards give way, and men shalt last Against all blows, every sword slash, That is if they wish to call themselves first and last Men, this was their gift, and their curse, as they didst clash, Each one of them struck fast, Eager not to be the last Across the river and in the midst of the clash, Lo! They struck thusly in a flash, And as mightily as a volcanic blast, This was the task That they didst cast Unto themselves, as many didst amass A great many victims along the vast Sward of the river, all while they didst canvass To their side a great mass Of friends and sword-mates, to dash The enemy to shreds, and in a rash Of hot-blooded nature, he didst thrash All who didst rash In nature, forward against him dash, This men didst chant Vociferously was their way, Jusuf the Panther who didst lance Through many chariots¡¯ that day, As they acted as ones fey, And didst prance Forward their horses quick to bray, As they advance To flay From enemies¡¯ their flesh and to dance And demonstrate the old way, The old war-dance That has long held sway, War they went to, that they could prance And didst flay The whole of the legion, and dance Upon their remains, and sway The rest from valour to fear, and lance From them all courage, Or so it appear¡¯d, their fear he didst enhance, Even as they didst rally, and bray, In the madness And show of rashness, Went men after men, That their foes might be rent, Ne¡¯er didst they fail To against one another rail And rain blow after blow, As skilful as a farmer with a hoe! Ne¡¯er timid as a doe, Swift as the river¡¯s flow, None their backs didst bend, Nor could they relent, Now that they stood As in a flood, Along the river¡¯s side, Many wert those left by the tide, Innumerable those that swarm¡¯d And relentlessly darken¡¯d, The river¡¯s sward By way of the barbarian¡¯s sword.