A wanderer

[idiot 501]

 

 

 

 

Often the lonely receives love,

The Creator’s help, though heavy with care
Over the sea he suffers long
Stirring his hands in the frosty swell,
The way of exile. Fate never wavers.

 

The wanderer spoke; he told his sorrows,
The deadly onslaughts, the death of the clan,
“At dawn alone I must
Mouth my cares; the man does not live
Whom I dare tell my depths
Straight out. I see truth
In the lordly custom for the courageous man
To bind fast his breast, loyal
To his treasure closet, thoughts aside.
The weary cannot control fate
Nor do bitter thoughts settle things.
The eager for glory often bind
Something bloody close to their breasts.

-Verse one and two of "The Wanderer": An Anglo-saxon poem

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Name: Age forgets things.

 

Age: Pretty Old.

 

Profession (mechanical): Blacksmith

Profession (work): A mercenary with a wanderlust. 

 

Race: Elf

 

Weapon(s): 

A small greek, hoplite styled blade, rarely used and normally sheathed in a red-dyed leather sheathe:

 

A longsword with a serrated edge, being rather flimsy and aged, it's blade shudders when swung:

 

T.B.C

Not quite finished <3

 

 

 

 

 

[lawnmowerman 3040]

((nice art, got a link to the artist?

[idiot 501]

18 hours ago, Shekeler said:

((nice art, got a link to the artist?

I do not, no. I found it on google.