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The Fall of Minitz, or, the Rejoice of Minitz -a Poem


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The Fall of Minitz, or, the Rejoice of Minitz

A poem dedicated to the people of Minitz by Ulvixeor the Curious

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The mourners have packed. The soldiers have withdrawn. 

The dust is settled from its solemn shed. 

The children are asking where their friends have gone?

The mountains and rivers whisper, “Minitz is dead.”

 

All the torches flaming bright are quenched to char,

and the aviaries quiver coldly in their nest.

Cobble rubble spreads. The Darkness scars.

We leave our home with a wound in our chest.

 

But Minitz was never the floorboards or stone.

Never the brick roads nor husks of wheat.

It follows our people where e’er the wind has blown,

It was never the land, but instead our marching feet.

 

My Minitz! Old Minitz! We shall yearn your lavish land!

But we will remain Minitz moving forward, hand in hand. 

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Signed by,

Ulrich "Ulvixeor the Curious" von Minitz,

Historian, Poet Laureate, Scribe, and Bard of Minitz

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Brandt receives a copy of Ulrich's poem in his tent, reading over it momentarily as he is washed with sombre emotions. He smiles, looking towards Ulrich's tent next to his. 'You are right, as always.'

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A certain masked merchant prepares to sing this everytime they enter Minitz territory.

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