Grayshun's Grievances

Cruxvader · 05-14-2007, 05:00 AM

(This is an Ubi Sunt theme poem [see themes thread])
(Time unknown, sometime early in the second age)

Oh, brother, by blood, son birth,
Come closely young one, I have a tale for thee,
For as my father is to the halls of his fathers,
So also shall I soon.

I was betrothed to the slopes of our land
How vast and true.
Those jagged peaks that rise out of the reach of hand
These lands have been spread anew,
Yet now the air has been tainted by other-landers,
Coming in our rightful home.
Yea, in the past there were times of brilliant canters,
Thus, fain I proclaim before I rest in that blessed tomb.

Homeward bound past a battle of Bretons, raids and pillaged afoot...
No house nor trend would suspend this action!
And we would fill our guts with Rhuud.
It should be and had in days past,
Where our land was strong within it!
But now of late, these crumbled paths
Have lost their sense of diligence...

That battle; so free, so liberating, so near,
Those chants so tried and true!
There was no tongue-talker, pinching our coins,
Nay, but Aha! Mead! Deep to our loins!

So then, those things which we held dear, we cannot pass on to you.
As within my eyes forms a tear, because of changing views...

The scent of blood spill in mornings due!
Oh, how we have lost this wonderous hue:
Of blood on winter cold, spectrum of truth,
The red on white, a purest view!
Yet all of these things, so changed, so used
And all so fleeting, be beyond my youth.

The jewels we gained through deep raids,
Against Reikling and Mer alike!
And be it elves we slain, run from us, away!
We trusted in these things, delighted.

But as time has grown,
And moss upon our treasure,
We find seeds sown,
Yet no heart to measure.
Our chests beat slow,
And weak and passive,
And so also as those things we gathered,
Shall I be passing.
Not as the days of old.

I lay mine claymore down,
between my sarcophagus where I shall dwell.
Let all Skyrim know: This blood shall be avenged.
And to the time that passes, beware of me!
I will arrive in all ferocity:
I shall destroy thy heart through keen,
And release my fathers, and their fathers from thee,
That they may dwell with their children,
And drink along side them for all eternity.

What land was our brothers'?
What land?
Listen closely, brothers...
The land... speaks.

05-14-2007, 05:00 AM	#1
Cruxvader Sapling Join Date: May 2007 Posts: 2	Grayshun's Grievances (This is an Ubi Sunt theme poem [see themes thread]) (Time unknown, sometime early in the second age) Oh, brother, by blood, son birth, Come closely young one, I have a tale for thee, For as my father is to the halls of his fathers, So also shall I soon. I was betrothed to the slopes of our land How vast and true. Those jagged peaks that rise out of the reach of hand These lands have been spread anew, Yet now the air has been tainted by other-landers, Coming in our rightful home. Yea, in the past there were times of brilliant canters, Thus, fain I proclaim before I rest in that blessed tomb. Homeward bound past a battle of Bretons, raids and pillaged afoot... No house nor trend would suspend this action! And we would fill our guts with Rhuud. It should be and had in days past, Where our land was strong within it! But now of late, these crumbled paths Have lost their sense of diligence... That battle; so free, so liberating, so near, Those chants so tried and true! There was no tongue-talker, pinching our coins, Nay, but Aha! Mead! Deep to our loins! So then, those things which we held dear, we cannot pass on to you. As within my eyes forms a tear, because of changing views... The scent of blood spill in mornings due! Oh, how we have lost this wonderous hue: Of blood on winter cold, spectrum of truth, The red on white, a purest view! Yet all of these things, so changed, so used And all so fleeting, be beyond my youth. The jewels we gained through deep raids, Against Reikling and Mer alike! And be it elves we slain, run from us, away! We trusted in these things, delighted. But as time has grown, And moss upon our treasure, We find seeds sown, Yet no heart to measure. Our chests beat slow, And weak and passive, And so also as those things we gathered, Shall I be passing. Not as the days of old. I lay mine claymore down, between my sarcophagus where I shall dwell. Let all Skyrim know: This blood shall be avenged. And to the time that passes, beware of me! I will arrive in all ferocity: I shall destroy thy heart through keen, And release my fathers, and their fathers from thee, That they may dwell with their children, And drink along side them for all eternity. What land was our brothers'? What land? Listen closely, brothers... The land... speaks.