Fantasy (Nightmare and Other Fantastic Works)

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.