Here are some fantasy poems from various worlds of my imagination:
This is the story of Aronad, a Burzhan knight of the Kerub tribe, who
sought and killed the Eregad, a desert dragon that preyed on merchant caravans
in the Torren Desert. It is here accounted as an excerpt from the popular book,
Tales of Burzha, by Astren, the famed elf
explorer. This is but one among many of the stories and folk tales that he
learned from the natives of Burzha. Although the story was first written in
Astren’s native elvish language, it is here translated to the common tongue.
Aronad and Eregad
There was a knight named Aronad
From Burzha, the southern land,
He sought a monster, Eregad,
A dragon of the sand.
Through desert rode the daring knight
In search of this foul beast;
But, food and water out of sight,
A loaf was like a feast.
So he sought in this sea of sand,
Hoping to find his foe.
At last he came to a cave unmanned;
Inside it he did go.
He left his horse tied to a rock
And took from it his bow
And too his mighty sword to knock
The head off any foe.
He found in it a chasm damp;
No bottom was in sight.
Around its edge there was a ramp
That spiraled down beneath all light.
Sir Aronad hated the heavy air,
The darkness most of all.
And so he turned to leave the lair,
Escape the cave with ceiling tall.
Then there he heard a hopeful sound
Away in the depths below:
The drip of water on the ground –
A sound he’d come to know.
And so the man in desert cave
Went down the rocky way.
He traveled fast, his life to save:
He’d not had water many a day.
The circular slope he stepped along
Was treacherously steep.
He stumbled on that trail so long
That wound into the deep.
Large rocks stuck out like teeth to bite
His skin and tear his clothes.
No creature did he find to fight;
No beast before him rose.
He reached the bottom and a pool
In darkness all consumed.
He drank and bathed in the water cool,
Not seeing what behind him loomed.
For in the shadows was the beast,
The purpose of his quest,
Eregad, born to make life cease,
Came crawling from its nest.
Its claws so sharp, the stone they’d scrape.
Its wings held high above its back.
Its giant mouth was now agape.
It crouched for its attack.
The knight turned and swam ashore
And then he saw his foe.
Though shivers ran right to his core,
He gripped his mighty bow.
An arrow loosed he at the wight;
It struck with little harm.
And so he drew his sword to fight,
To wield with his great arm.
The creature’s skin was thick and tough,
But strong was Aronad,
He hacked and tore and thrust enough
To make the creature mad.
And so with Aronad on its back
It dove into the lake
To ease the strikes of his attack,
And then his life to take.
Now did he grasp the water’s depth,
For still they both descended.
But still a desperate hold he kept
Until the fall had ended.
But Aronad now had little air;
And now the Eregad
With mightier arms than any bear,
Reached back for Aronad.
It caught him, ripped him from his back,
And brought him o’er its head.
And to its pleasure, the human’s lack
Of air had left him dead.
Or so it thought for still he lived
And waited till the time was right,
When death to it the knight could give
And show it how his sword could bite.
So when its mouth, it opened wide,
To fill it with the dead;
He show it he had never died,
And, with his sword, his foe he fed.
The sword went deep into its brain.
The creature fell to depths below.
And as it fell it left a train
Of venomous blood to poison its foe.
Seeing the deadly bloody mist
He swam to higher ground.
As Eregad sunk into the abyss,
Sweet air the warrior found.
He warily took a look around.
He peered inside the nest.
Good meat in plenty there he found.
He filled his bags and left the rest.
With such provisions he left the cave
And mounted his great steed.
He’d given his foe a watery grave,
And few could boast of such a deed.
So homeward bound was the victorious knight
Who’d slain the Eregad.
And many far lands that heard of his fight
Gave honor to Aronad.
This poem, written by the minstrel David Barendor, was first recited in
the courts of King Lafen. The day before its reciting, the capital of Blisteen
had been assaulted by hordes of goblins during a well-planned invasion. The
events of this attack inspired Barendor’s poem – specifically, the defense of
the Élladden Bridge by a single warrior named Kender.
Holding the Bridge
Lo! He stands upon the bridge.
See his sword held high?
Lo! He dares them, “Come thou forth.
Feel my steel and die!”
Seeing him they saw a boy,
Young and far too bold.
Seeing him I saw a man
With strength and skill untold.
Arrows flew from goblin horde,
Two aimed at his chest.
Arrow in his shoulder lodged,
Other failed its quest.
So they charged into his wrath,
Feeling safe and sure.
So he swung and gave to them
Wounds no hand can cure.
Look! He holds the bridge for sure;
Goblins gain no ground.
Look! His men come to his aid.
Here their cries resound!
See this warrior, see this man –
Hero, young but great.
See this lad and learn from him;
His boldness imitate.
During a time of terror and dread—when goblin
bands roamed freely through the land of Atóm—a rich variety of emotional poetry
flourished. The works produced during this time include heartfelt cries for help, passionate
marching songs, and terse narrative poems. Such works were common, reflecting
the dread, anger, and determination of that time.
A Man Will Come...
They
say one day a man will come
And
free us from the dreaded drum
That
drives the orcs to bring their fire
And
slay the helpless screaming crier.
They
sack our towns and burn them down
Till
only ashes can be found.
The
ground is littered with the dead
Their
prostrate bodies spewing red.
But
rumor has it there’s a man
Who’ll
fight for us as best he can
And
free us from this thing we fear
That
steals from us all we hold dear.
Come
quickly! Slay them with your wrath—
These
beasts that blaze a burning path.
And
cause their marching drums to cease,
That we from bondage be released.
...To Save His Home
O’er many hills he rode by day,
Across the plains by night.
He fled not perils from behind,
For he was not in flight.
He rode to war, where fight he must
An orc marauding band
That pillaged, plundered all throughout
This warrior’s small homeland.
Oft he had been on errantry
In lands so far away.
But though it was his job at times,
It was no joy to slay.
But now he rode to face his foe,
To save his precious home.
And there he came by dawns first light,
To his homeland, Atóm.
This country help he gave before
It fell to orc attack.
So saved it was by this great man,
Karbéth of Torbenack.*
*Torbenack is a city in Atóm where Karbéth was born
and raised.
The
story you are about to read was first discovered by the Atrean people after the
sacking of Key, a southern city in Taurath. The scroll containing this tale was
found in the private library of Dairen Underly, believed to be the composer of
this work. Although some historians doubt the story’s authenticity, most
believe it took place in the Red Canyon, lying between Taurath’s southern
mountains and the city of Key. Having been written in the common tongue, no translation
was necessary; thus the following work is written in the poem’s original form.
Nightmare
Anfari
stood outside a cave;
Inside
he wished to find
A
beast that frightened any mind,
The
only of its kind.
He’d
tracked the creature through the hills
With
many comrades brave,
And
they had chased it, close behind;
The
beast no rest they gave.
They
followed down a canyon’s side,
Marched
on with hardened wills;
For
motivation did they have:
Avenge
the monster’s kills.
For
it had slaughtered brutally
The
many who had tried
To
challenge it for praise and thrills;
Thus
many men had died.
Its
origins are hard to know,
For
myth and history
Will
intertwine and often hide
The
truth we wish to see.
From
eastern lands it came, most say,
Pursuing
some doomed foe—
A
warrior from the city Key
Who’d
slain a man it’d known.
This
man, the creature’s only friend,
Now
slain and headless lay.
The
beast sought out the warrior, though,
And
chased him night and day.
So
home this wanted warrior fled
For
he could not defend
Himself
or hold its wrath at bay;
Its
rage would never end.
The
creature caught him, slew him there
And
watched the ground turn red;
But
still its grief it could not mend,
Though foe, like friend, was dead.
I
should describe the beast, Tamére
(Which
means in Key Nightmare).
A
lizard’s form but human head,
Gray
body lacking hair.
Its
skin, as tough as hippo hide,
Could
almost turn a spear.
A
sword its skin could barely tear,
Which
gave its foes great fear.
It
had a grim and chiseled face,
A
mouth that opened wide,
And
bright blue eyes that seemed to leer
From
pools of depth inside.
It
often crawled on hands and feet,
As
when in hunt or chase;
But
when it stood, hands at its side,
It
looked down on man’s face.
Anfari
stood outside the cave,
And
there he took a seat.
They
now were at the canyons base,
Red
sandstone at their feet.
They’d
seen the beast from canyon’s rim
Crawl
quickly to the cave.
And
they resolved in scorching heat
To
make that place its grave.
Anfari
looked inside the hole;
The
darkness frightened him.
He
did not fear the beast he’d meet,
But
hated rooms too dim.
He
faced his fears and stood to fight
For
all the lives it stole.
He
walked, as did the men with him,
Into
the darkened hole.
The
cavern’s ceiling, though not high,
Was quickly out of sight;
And
soon the darkness swallowed whole
These
men who loved the light.
Of
several men I should now tell
Who’d
bravely fight and try
To
use their strength and prove their might—
Avenge
their friends or die.
The
first man’s name is Benjamin,
Who
knew Anfari well.
He
stood quite tall; on foot he’d fly
As
if under a spell.
To
these men Jarod—strong, red haired—
Was
close and almost kin—
A
man to whom a lion fell,
The
youngest of the men.
Anfari,
shortest of the three,
Was
strong and well prepared
For
their adventure in the den,
A
mission few men dared.
One
crucial warrior still remains:
A
tall, proud knight from Key.
He
knew a warrior it hadn’t spared,
And
thus his errantry.
His
armor was a shirt of mail;
Sir
Rodger was his name.
The
others in their company,
That
with Anfari came,
Were
from the towns around its lair;
They’d
heard its victims wail,
And
so with sober anger came,
Determined
not to fail.
All
named bore swords and some had spears
And
leather did they wear.
A
few held axes; some wore mail;
A torch did several bear.
These
men walked down by dim torch light,
Suppressing
all their fears.
They
walked in silence and with care—
Each
footstep hurt their ears.
While
no one voiced their fear aloud
All
men were tense and tight;
For
in this cave was something queer
Which
gave them cause for fright:
A
darkness filled the cavern’s air—
A
thick and evil shroud
That
seemed to smother all the light,
A
reeking, stifling cloud.
Of
this Anfari had great fear
Inside
the monster’s lair;
The
lack of vision it endowed
Made
torchlight seem so rare.
The
hall gave way to open space—
The
chamber of Tamére.
For
from the darkness, there did stare
Two
eyes that lurked quite near.
And
as it leered a smile crept
Across
its shadowed face.
Anticipating
cries of fear
From
helpless men it’d chase.
Anfari
slowly took the lead,
A
part few would accept.
These
warriors clustered in that place—
To
torches close they kept.
Anfari
turned and saw each man,
Of
hope they were in need.
But
then he saw that while they’d crept
The
beast had moved with speed
And
slit the helpless rear man’s throat,
Whose
blood now freely ran.
All
stared in horror at this deed,
Stood
still as humans can.
But
then Anfari broke the spell
With
one metallic note—
He’d
drawn his sword; he had no plan,
But
he would cut its throat.
He
challenged it to show its face
Dashed
off and gave a yell,
He
would not rest until he smote
This
monster—till it fell.
His
courage gave the beast no fear,
Not
in the beast’s own place.
The
nearing warrior it saw well,
A
smile on its face.
Sir
Rodger, also Benjamin—
Behind
Anfari here—
Ran
with their friend; they sped their pace;
Sir
Rodger bore a spear.
By
chance Anfari neared the beast
In
shadows of its den.
But
he, approaching great Tamére,
Was
passed by Benjamin.
This
fleet foot raised his sword to strike
The
just now vis’ble beast.
The
sword struck once, again, again,
But
suddenly it ceased.
The
monster cast the man aside
And
turned Sir Rodger’s pike.
Anfari
saw this mighty beast,
Each claw a deadly spike.
It
leapt for him and pinned his arms,
Claw
marks on head and side;
And
viciously, his throat to strike,
Its
mouth it opened wide.
Sir
Rodger swung his mighty blade
With
two colossal arms;
The
sword crashed down upon its hide
And
caused the beast great harm.
The
beast was hurt but hardly dead.
Anfari
watched, afraid.
The
beast moved quickly to disarm
Sir
Rodger who it slayed:
It
crushed his body, ripped his skin.
And
left him lying dead.
Anfari
tried to move but stayed
As
pain rushed to his head.
So
wounded, desperate, there he lay.
The
beast prepared again
To
strike Anfari b’low his head,
But
there were other men.
For
Jarod from behind then came
And
aimed a blow to slay.
And
also there came Benjamin;
Both
hammered till its gray
Tough
skin was torn and gushing red;
And
still it fought, though maimed.
But
Benjamin’s blows did not stray,
Both
rapid and well-aimed.
While
Jarod fought in front, behind
Ben
struck below the head;
And
Jarod quickly did the same
Till
all was bathed in red.
It
lay upon the rocky ground,
Where
death seized body, mind.
So
died the beast, with severed head—
That
killer of mankind.
The
other men, during the fight,
By
panic had been bound.
They
had not seen Anfari’s find
Nor
had they heard a sound.
These
men were later duly named
As
cowards in the fight,
And
no excuse that they e’er found,
Excused
their panicked fright.
But
hearing cries that it was dead,
They
soon were with those named;
And
they, recovered from their fright,
Were
sheepish and ashamed.
With
Jarod’s help Anfari rose,
Then
saw Sir Rodger—dead—
And
pools of blood from wounds well-aimed
Beneath
his lifeless head.
But
little rest did any have,
For
strong men Jarod chose
To
bear the bodies of the dead—
Their
friend’s, and too, their foe’s.
So
out they bore the dead with care,
A
somber burial gave,
Deliv’ring
both to death’s dark throws
Inside
a rocky grave.*
And
so the land was freed from fear
Of
terrible Tamére.
The
land these men had worked to save
Awoke
from its nightmare.
*According to Keyan tradition, if two rivals engaged in mortal combat, the
victor would bury his enemy as a gesture of final respect; here this tradition
is extended to the fallen Tamere.
