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VICTORY For the beloved brothers and sisters in arms who fell at the Skirmish of Stone Tower, and for the victory of the faithful. The waves lap at bloodstained stone, And I listen quietly to muffled cries. The cries of the dying and the damned, The cries for mercy. No mercy shall come, For those that betray their faith find no refuge. They find that the silken whispers of Iblees, Mistaken for GODAN, most high, Turn to knives against them evermore. For where I stand beside the faithful, The broken, the beaten, the UNDEFEATED, I can only hear the sweet song of Godan’s aenguls, Guiding my noble brothers and sisters to heaven. For as darkness falls over bloodsoaked ground, And the eerie silence post-battle wanes, I see the glorious light shining upon tomorrow. And may sacrifice usher in a new age of light, A new age of peace and beauty. And as we travel into this new ‘morrow, May our resolve never falter and our faith never waver. Let the joyous cries of the pious and the good, Ring out through this new tomorrow. And let the fallen rest in blissful sleep, Knowing that they have been avenged, And remain unforgotten among the living. May they rest peacefully, bathed in eternal light, Forevermore knowing that we shall remember. SIGNED, Her Royal Highness, Klara Elizaveta, Duchess of Baranya Klara Elizaveta finished her work with a flourish of her pen before climbing the ladder in her room at the Nikirala Prikaz to gaze out at the sky. “Are vy proud of us, Sigmar?”
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Selection of Poetry - Vol. 7 [!] A portrait of teenage Borris Iver Kortrevich 17th of Msitza and Dargund, 418 E.S. “Sunflower” As golden the afternoon sun, you outstretched Yourself high into the air. Tall and beautiful, you Tower above everything and everyone. Green Leaves topped with a yellow brimmed hat. “Friend Lost” The wilting of a flower, ever doomed. Sprouted from seeds of a ignorance And morphed into a beautiful bloom. Yet deep inside lies the insolence. Taken from thin air, this wisp of rose Stands before the rest in glorious display Yet approached, only further does it expose The glinting of hurt under, chaos and disarray. Molded despair which has been wrought, Agonizing venom seeps through veins, Seeping, grasping, clawing its way out. Then spews around in deadly rains. Unintentionality reeps the same bitter seed, Arising from such meager beginning to this, Inevitable destructuction, choking weed. Harvest sown greets only with an abyss. Everything has been broken, bits and Pieces scattered about across the dirt floor. “From Cracked to Shattered” Below the stars, before the window pane, I long for you but you just break my heart. So why oh why do I hold in this pain. A delicate piece of glass, work of art. Sculptured with care, encased by the rampart Brittle in nature, when dropped it shatters I try to keep it safe, out of harm’s sight Grasping it for dear life, holding it tight. “Hands of Healing” I was nothing, sunk into by fangs Yet you took me from that Terrible disposition, melding Everything back into a whole. You lead me away from such darkness and back towards light. A hand guiding me from afar. One I despised turned to greet me. When I was at my lowest This hand carefully brought Me back from my depths and Sprouting within me hope again. Friend! Friend! I will call you. I see you standing at the gates And so a move to meet you again I shall always do that now. Talked for hours, catching Up on every little detail. We laugh, we cry, we rant, yell, and share our lives. You show me how to dance, Though I step on your toes. We spin, again and again, Nervousness turns to enjoyment. There is a warmth felt inside, Different from a romantic fire. A care is exchanged, a mutual Understanding of each other. Signed, Borris Iver Kortrevich -
At Haense's gates, the hunt of the century was about to begin. As the 7 hunters head straight through the forest, find the hunt by following its tracks was no problem to attain. Leading the way said Mister Juliyus: "Everyone keep an eye out, this deer is a mean bastard". And so the 7 adventurous went in search of the legendary hart. The party followed a bunch of hunting dogs trying to found the quadruped. The traces of that great stag's destruction for wherever it did goes were drooped. As the hunters moved deeper into the forest, the marks of a large beast's passage became increasingly noticeable. The marks seen on a dead direwolf done by a large horned beast was visible. The sounds of a massive beast could be heard thundering across the forrest. So goes the brave group following this fuss that sounds bloody abhorrent. As the party rides up the hill they come across Gambi, the chonky ******* deer. And because the sudden appearance of a centenary animal, the hunters are just staring the giant stag for a few seconds, freezed, but not by fear. Gambi the morbidly obese stag paws the ground before letting out a moo and lowering his horns charging for the nearest riders to it with his massive rack of antlers. Then they manage to come their senses to react against the enemy tries of slaughters. Gambi swings his head slamming into Mister Cole with the full force of a morbidly obese deer. Fortunately, due Mister Cole's armor and strength he could beare. Mister Godric pulls the horse up closer, thrusting his sword in an attempt to stab the creature. Such an attack greatly managed to sinks the sword into deer's femur. The great Gambi charges forward slamming into Juliyus's mount which screamed as it threw him from his horse. After that, his spear remains in his hand but he ends up dislocating his shoulder because the impact force. Mister Cassio, in order to cover Mister Juliyus, throws his ax into one of the beast's legs. It was a nice throw, as it did reduce the beast stamina and strength. Hiroto-san moved after the attacking chance given by Mister Cassio with the katana held high near his head. And now with this sharpened katana, another painful lunge was added. Mister Clearon charges aiming the beast's ankle in order to try tipping the giant cervid. And his attacks was successful as two deep cut was inserted. After that the deer lets out a great moo as its ankles are nicked. Yeah, the hunters' attacks were strict. Then a great screech is heard as a streak of black feathers seemingly clawing the eyes of the monstrosity. Well, it turns revealing itself to be one of the hunting falcons coming to help the party. And we has Madam Catlaya, who could do nothing because she had somehow lost her saber. The deer starts going straight to tobble her, but by luck it's when, cause its injuries, the monster body comes to surrender. Its achilies tendon snaps, so deer collapses to its right letting out the screams of its death. And that's the summary of how 7 hunters surrounded a mythical creature that appears only once in a century managing to cut the beast to its last breath. In this hunt there was no one who had more merit or less merit. Whole group was united to take down the legendary deer and so shared a communal credit.
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"Simple Joy" A Poem by Borris Iver Kortrevich [!] A portrait of teenage Borris Iver Kortrevich 13th of Joma and Umund, 417 E.S. For in the meadow, one wonders through Brush and flower, pollen tainting the cloth Yellow while thorns and bristles continuously Stab the soft skin below the clothed exterior. Yet they continue as if they feel nothing, Spinning wildly as they take in the beauty Of such fields. Dress of blue and yellow twirling About, speckles of fabric glistening in the sunlight. Regardless of its continual smacking upon the stalks, the figure never relents its dancing. Laughs resound from them, breaking the Thin silence that seemed draped upon this place. A beacon of light emits from their face, teeth In full view as they hold an ever, widening smile. Eyes wonder, noting a piece of hazy color Around, most blending into one greenish-yellow fuzz. They pause, breathless in their state of perfect bliss. Complete dizziness washes over the body, forcing the Head to still twist as the body stands still. They closely Their eyes, letting the light-headed feeling numb everything. Arms feel out to the side to balance this teetering person From falling. Expulsion of a light sigh before sight returns, focusing on the flower before it. A smile turns to a giggle, And a giggle turns to a movement. A movement leads to a run. And once again, one runs through the wildflowers.
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Selection of Poetry - Vol. 6 [!] A portrait of teenage Borris Iver Kortrevich 14th of Tov and Yermey, 417 E.S. Haiku Lilacs in the wind, Shimmering beauty beheld, Fields, purple and green. - A boat lost at sea, I can't see, but home calls me, It pulls me to shore. - Flutter of the wing, Sound is gone within seconds, Returned without words. - Gift upon the words, Flowers of the golden bloom, Never withering. - Death upon the air, Ingrained in a soldier’s mind, The stench of old blood. - The waters consume, Entrapped in their dark deepness, Never to see day. - Droplets of water, I flinch as they hit my face, Numbing sensation. - I long in silence, Terrified that if I spoke, You would slip away. - Endless void of space, Illuminated by stars, Twinkling at night. - Aedypapej, A leader among all men, Standing tall for us. - Snow is a gesture, It’s arms outstretched towards the ground, Sleep on white meadows. - Shame crawled through the door, Wearing nothing but wore clothes, It shrieked, then toppled. - A faint cry sounded, Pain enwrapped entirely, Only misery. - Cave built on wonder, Moonlit sky peaking through cracks, Dissolving within. “Nervous” A nervous chuckle escapes from My mouth every time I talk to you. An awkward tic, rarely ever caught And stopped, only after I came to. Thumbs round each other in circles, The soft scraping of skin calms my nerves. It soothes me, allowing me to continue Talking without stuttering or stopping. Pale cheeks lose themselves within the An ever expanding rose garden, Blazing fires cover them entirely, Burning a delicate hand’s gently touch. It is an endless cycle, the longing To talk with you despite the fright I Feel when we meet face to face. Anxious joy on a continuous loop. Even through this, I wish to be at Your side constantly, never departing.
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A Collection of Haikus by Aigiarn Hatsumomo 12 Doyōbi 1861 JOYFUL DANCE / 楽しいダンス loving you was death, and our dances were love, i miss our joyful dance あなたを愛することは死でした、 そして私たちのダンスは愛でした、私は 楽しいダンスが恋しい MY BABY / マイベイビー my baby, baby of mine, where are you going? leave not, my baby 私の赤ちゃん、赤ちゃん 私の、どこに行くの？ 残さないで、私の赤ちゃん SOMBER / ゾンバー pearl diver, dive down deeper, find in your spirit, her soft, somber songs. パールダイバー、ダイブダウン より深く、あなたの精神で見つけて、 彼女の柔らかく、くすんだ歌。 FIRE / 火 i was on fire, a burning sensation in me, and then, i knew love 私は燃えていました、 私の灼熱感、 そして、私は愛を知っていました A COLLECTION OF HAIKUS AIGIARN HATSUMOMO 12 DOYŌBI 1861
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✵ The Wind in the Willows ✵ By HIH Catherine of Furnestock Princess Imperial c. 1860 I will never forget the day of our meeting, A joyful event at Season’s Greeting! Her dress lined with flowers and velvet my cloak, Were heralds of feelings which have since then awoke. Though she is not of my same station, My love for her is beyond ration. Like a clock my heart beats, with such elation, At the mere offering of her salutation. Wind in the Willows, Swaying in the breeze. Within her eyes, her soul is shining. Though it will be difficult to reap, A promise has been made Which forever I shall keep. Fair maiden, fair maiden, how your smile doth shine, Like the vestments of saints, of aenguls divine! There is nothing that I would not do for thee, As you, in turn, would have done unto me. In the light of a setting sun, The thread of prophecy has been undone. I love you my dear, second to none, But is this a struggle that can be won? Wind in the Willows, In the winter freeze. Down rosy cheeks, her tears are falling. Though it will be difficult to reap, A promise has been made Which I shall strive to keep. Duty and honor are rallying cries, A promise of glory for which men die. Meadows and flowers in green pastures grow, Tainted by a river through which time flows. Life is a journey, short and sweet, A treasure to be cherished in its brevity. Choices that are made in a passion’s heat, Cruelly weave the thread of destiny. Wind in the Willows, Short and sweet. She attends to her infant’s crying. That which is sewn must now be reaped, A promise has been broken, And forever shall I weep.
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HANSETI-RUSKAN WORKS: ART, LITERATURE, AND MUSIC TABLE OF CONTENTS Songs I. The Haeseni Soldier II. Deryzcz III. Home Across the Mountains IV. The Road to War V. Ode to The Fallen Artwork I. The Siege of Southbridge Poems I. Beneath the Willow Tree II. Gone III. The Perfect Flower IV. Desiring V. Palace of Haverlock SONGS I. The Haeseni Soldier (link) A farmer’s boy with little worth, goes to the army. He joins the soldiers on a march, as his mother prays at home. A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy, wields his long sword bravely. He trains and trains until he faints, and his brothers treat him gently. A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy, his head held high and mighty. He fights for those he loves at home, although it pains him greatly. A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy, is now an admired sergeant. He trains his fellow soldiers, and prays they come back home A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy fights the gruesome wars, And although his mother prays at home, her soldier boy is gone A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy, drifts into the skies. His life was worth so very much, and his brothers cries his name A farmer’s boy, a soldier boy, looks down upon the army. He hopes they keep on fighting, as their Koeng needs them greatly By Her Ladyship, Erika Renate Barclay II. Deryzcz (link) By His Highness, Gustaf Sigismund Morovar III. Home Across the Mountains (link) By Firr Feodor May IV. The Road to War (link) By Firr Feodor May V. Ode to the Fallen (link) By Firr Feodor May ARTWORK I. The Siege of Southbridge (link) By Her Ladyship, Sofiya Antonia vas Ruthern POEMS I. Beneath the Willow Tree (link) Come hither, my darling And join me upon the hill Battle rages across the ground Clashes of might and will Smoke and flame billows Up towards GODAN’s skies Watch as steel meets flashing steel Hear the orphan’s cries Come hither, my darling As we tread this bloodsoaked ground Find your heart and listen To the hallowed sound Deep in the wood Where meadow meets glade There, you shall find it Sitting beneath a willow’s shade Come hither, my darling What is it you hear? The sound of memories long faded Words once held dear Echoes of those long past Sit deep in your heart Gone but not forgotten Never truly apart Come hither, my darling And sit beneath the willow tree Is it not peaceful? Here, you are entirely free GODAN, save the Brotherhood Protect them from melancholy So they may dance forever Beneath the willow tree By Her Royal Highness, Klara Elizaveta, Duchess of Baranya II. Gone (link) It dipped into the depths, this last light of mine. Entrenched in this darkness, I waste away in this Gloom ridden tower. The skies floods with dark, Warm colors.. I shout, but I am consumed by The splashing of the waves upon rocks On the cliffside. Nothing remains for all shall Fall into ruin. Just as the sun disappears behind The sea, so too shall you disappear under the earth. By His Lordship, Borris Iver Kortrevich III. The Perfect Flower (link) You are a dream, a myth, a ghost Running through meadows in hopes Of finding the most perfect flower. A trophy to hold up, the greatest boast A shadow to be sung of only in odes The broken stem of a perfect flower By His Lordship, Borris Iver Kortrevich IV. Desiring (link) — Love is a poor actor Always forgetting his lines, Tripping over himself, But anyone who has ever loved Cannot say that He does not plunge Headfirst into his role — The yearning of the heart Is the most deepest of desires. Anyone can be The object of my yearning. Each one is always special, But desiring in itself Is the most desirable thing of all. — Have you ever walked out Amongst the fenland And seen the pale pink Fingers of the sunset Gently reach across the sky, So you can almost feel Them stroke your cheek And have you gone down To the dark, glass surface, And felt the waters Lap gently at the edges of Your face and smiled, Feeling drops trickle down And collect around your lips And sat down on the ridgeline Sighing softly to the horizon As the swans fly across, Smelt snowdrops and jasmine, then Twisted them into a little ring Of delicate and pretty petals, And drank all this in with your gaze — I draw my finger across his face Gently tracing every contour Along his cheek and chin, I pull his jaw close to me; He is a sculpture. His Black, curly hair, velvet lashes, Green eyes. Is this not bliss? But nothing lasts and This too cannot. Though My hate simmers for her, The heart yet cannot lie, and Time polishes all desires and Now I dream such golden dreams Of him. — Enough wine and There is little distinction Between a common harlot And a noble lady Wine tears off all veils And the blemish Becomes the beauty-spot And the latter the former And the former the latter — By Firress Ceciliya Smirnova V. Palace of Haverlock (link) You pull me into this wonderful place in which I do not recognize. Flawlessly, scrubbed, white walls And dustless dark oak floors. I could have sworn that I Saw little specks of twinkling around me as I moved past. What started as a maze, quickly became a game. We duck in and out of rooms, trying to open every Locked door. We run down hallways and spiraling stairs On which, often only leads us back to where we began. It is an Ironic thing, a place large enough to Awe at, yet close enough to barely stand Shoulder to shoulder within the hallways. It is a beautiful, confusing, complex work of art. By His Lordship, Borris Iver Kortrevich Should you wish to have your works published in Volume II, please contact HRH, Klara Elizaveta by bird. (pudding#7426) SIGNED, Her Royal Highness, Klara Elizaveta, Duchess of Baranya -
Excerpt from the Tahkayt Hezzifan, or "Long Story", the oral poetry telling the tale of the A'tmuzigh people. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Tahkayt Hezzifan is part of a lengthy and dramatic ceremony performed by A'tmuzigh Elders and Oracles, as a form of oral transmission of knowledge. This extensive spoken poem tells the tale of the creation of all things originating from the primordial One, continues by going over the A'tmuzigh's history as a people group, and ends with the prophecy of the end of all life and the world's inevitable return to its primordial state. The Tahkayt Hezzifan differs from tribe to tribe, but its beginning and end stays largely the same regardless of tribal allegiance. The following excerpt takes key sections of this lengthy poem to showcase the A'tmuzighs' beliefs. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ In the beginning At first the world was darkness and ocean, A vast expanse of free spirits in constant motion, The gods in the heavens would all claim their share, Yet could not distinguish what spirit was where, The gods, used to feuding and constant estrangement, Came together as one in an uneasy arrangement, So they created the Sun high in the sky, Hoping its heat, the ocean would dry, The Sun in the heavens, as it shone and it shone, Revealed from the ocean, lands of bare stone, The spirits from water were stranded, and so they would die, Raised their gaze to the heavens and thus they would cry, “Oh water, oh life. Without you, we wither!” Some of these spirits would crawl and would slither, To escape to the ocean, away from the land, Those who did not turned to dust and to sand, The gods were displeased at what had thus happened, The spirits on land left to die and abandoned, So they came together, to save what could be, And created the Moon, to bring the tides from the sea, The tide healed the spirits from the water it grants, Those close to the ocean became creatures and plants, Yet some spirits remained far from the shore, Pleading and screaming and dying in scores, The gods came together for one final time, They took from the water of the ocean sublime, Glanced one last time at the withering crowds, They scattered the water in ponds, lakes, and clouds, In the midst of the deserts, as spirits did fall, From the rain, an oasis, as if by their call, They drank and they drank, ‘til they could drink no more, The spirits soon realised they could see no shore, The oasis appeared, and had been their salvation, Yet now they were stranded, and forced in prostration, Their heads bent to drink water brought from the rain, Their bodies battered by winds who sought to bring pain, The sands and winds, now jealous and vicious, Sought to enslave those whose calls were auspicious, The spirits thus bent, and their bodies assailed, Tried to fight back, but surely so failed, Their skin became tough to combat the storms, And thus, over time, did they change their forms, No longer ethereal, now flesh and bone, Among them, Mezeg, a spirit well-known, Rose up in defiance, with his body as shield, He rallied his kin, no longer they yield, The spirits of plants first came to his aid, So he could make tents out of fibres arrayed, The winds no longer reached those who resisted, The spirits of animals then rose up and assisted, Wool made up their clothing, and from milk they could sip, Free were they now from the sands and their grip, And so in their tents, did the rebels proclaim, “No longer are we slaves, and so we shall name”, “Ourselves for the freedom we have fought to achieve”, “And in remembrance of those we have lost and we grieve”, “The Freefolk we are, A’tmuzigh in our tongue”, “A people whose battle will be heard and be sung.”, And so did he march with his people and brothers, From oasis to oasis to free all the others, Mezeg was his name, the Liberator, his title, A man who believed that freedom was vital, And thus he marched on, breaking the chains, Liberating the others from their plights and their pains, A dolmen he carved at every oasis he saved, To remember all those who died when enslaved, And so that his people, no more would be slaves, Whether to spirits of winds, sands or waves, In the end The gods in their folly made the Moon and the Sun, Dried up the ocean and broke up the One, All spirits were meant to be one and the same, And thus do we see, and so we proclaim, The spirits apart will grow wild, corrupt, This growing imbalance, the world will disrupt, The gods will look down and see their mistake, They treasure this world and so their hearts will ache, First the Moon they remove, their tidal creation, The oceans will rise, flooding every nation, Then the Sun will depart from high in the sky, Thus in the end, all life must die, Darkness once more, the world will envelop, And the primordial ocean will redevelop, The spirits at peace, one and the same, All things as they should, so shall they reclaim. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ This poem is available in-game through a book of the same name, Tahkayt Hezzifan, purchasable on AH or in Valhelm Square, next to the bank. (OOC: If you wish to play an A'tmuzigh character or are interested in the lore, please feel free to contact me on Discord at Northern_Watcher#0790) -
OOC: This Tome is a collection of poetry written by Silas Astasel, located with an irp book. Often, these entries will involve some background as he writes it, which onlookers/those reasonably around may emote in response to within this post. If you wish to do this, simply begin a reply, select the entry and hit "quote selection," then add your response emote. Direct confrontation between characters should be avoided most times, as to not metagame or make the post a confusing web. This being said, the contents written within this tome are located behind closed pages, and should not be metagamed unless Silas shows you IRP the content within. I will reply to this post as I edit it to provide an area to respond. Enjoy! Entry 1: Entry 2: Entry 3: Entry 4: Entry 5: Entry 6: Entry 7: Entry 7: Entry 8: Entry 9: Entry 10:
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--- Upon a cool afternoon within the city of Providence, a pallid youth sat by his bedroom window, knuckles pale as he gripped his quill and penned words upon a page. His gaze occasionally flicked to peer out over the snow-clogged streets of the city, beyond the walls and to the stretches of sea. With boyish fascination, Vinzant var Ruthern spent hours, lonesome in his room, jotting lines through words he felt clumsily fitted with others and scribbling characters a near dozen times to perfect their particular shape and indent upon the page. He had practised for some time, writing and rewriting, before completing his emotive work. --- AN ANCHORED LONGING Patent shoes, I do not do– I stalk these halls, bare-footed True. Search my pockets for stolen linen, needle, cheese My toes are loud– they creak. At my windowsill, clouds smear the sky like spilt glue and I wonder what toils, what shower will crack from the vault– blessed this pane, rain given unto me. Open the shutters, Cry Havoc! Wet my hands, my cheeks, my face bloom me in this necropolis– raise hydrangeas from my toes I am sick of only water-logged eyes. He watches me– his ruby pupil propped in the eye of a sentry, a marble Aengul his mumbling words, his gripping fist he thunders with no vapour, no downpour I dodge his arcing javelin, his thudding tome. Patent leather, I do not do– I miss my mother, her satin touch her slipper shoe. Wrap me in swaddling silk and cotton, return me to her blooming womb. In every wall is a cornerstone bleak bricks built non-breaking– ‘Am still searching this institution for tiny resolutions, a crack for invasive and engulfing oceans. Spill forth! Let me be Ruther in this moment, Let me hammer my own thunder crumble this tower bring me to the far ice-melt greens. --- 352 ES | 3 S.A. written by Vinzant Nikolas var Ruthern
