Farros Galdor: Cursed Hymns of Unmaking

[lonnarin]

Fimbul winter, dawn of darkness
Blackened storm clouds streak the sky
Rage within us, flames grow higher
We march to war, hear our cry

When ere the leaves of the world tree's fallen
Skeletal limbs rattle with gusts of gloom
Kingdom in ruins, the tyrant lay rotting
March upon them, these days of doom

Towers swaying, god slaves praying
Across the fields the lamb shrieks, braying
Red dragon's rage from a shattered cage
Long were the days of kinsmen's slaying
The wells have all shattered and dried long ago
Long since hath been the light of day
Throne, crown and shield all lost and shattered
Here where the corpse of the world doth lay.

Despair
Oh tortured sullen peaks
Weep thy rage to the winds
Beware
Scaley wings of horror
At the gates where death and hell
All begin

Storm clouds snowing, darkness growing
Heretical hymns sung upon gusts of gloom
Without our savior, Bloodstone fallen
We die upon these dark days of doom

When ere the leaves of the world tree's fallen
Skeletal limbs rattle with gusts of gloom
Empire shattered, the tyrant lay rotting
March upon them, these days of doom

[Interia_Discordius]

Great job I always love hearing the things Farros has to say in-game. He's a very fun character! Really enjoyed the poem song thing though.

[lonnarin]

Thanks. I try to make him extra-gloomy being both a tiefling and a skald, essentially a doom-obsessed melodramatic metal bard. Now that dragons are unleashed and the sun and moon were eaten by wolves (ie: the dark cloud came) his view of the world is beginning to parallel old legends of Ragnarok, though not implicitly. He also sees Bloodstone as the Savior of the World, and blames the heroes who slew him for the dark ages of dragondeath that came upon us in the wake of his defeat, so I'll start writing more dedicated to Sinthar's greatness, perhaps even a shakespearean style tragedy about his initial fall from grace and exile into the lower planes.

[lonnarin]

Woodlands

How could there ever be
a thing as wretched as a tree?

Dormantly yearning to race the rock to nowhere
Every Autumn shedding, like an old man losing hair
To be chewed inside and chattered
with squirrel droppings aptly scattered
in the gullet of your trunk
Protected by the activists who may
use your corpse for a hierophant staff one day
the totality of existence just to make more junk.

Termites tunneling veins through the rings of your heart
axemen marching, determined to rip you apart
Oh how wretched it is to be a tree
bereft of gender, love or sexuality

Should I drink, must I pray for rain?
Should I think, would others hear my pain?
Should I cry out, would anybody hear me?
Should I dry out, what would be left of me?

Stoic is the soldier standing ever still
watching kin crash down from yon wooded hill
Helpless be he with no legs to walk free
Nothing's more wretched than to be a tree.

[lonnarin]

Doom

Mighty doom, how I court thy fair countenance
to pass from my lips and rain chaos as the world rips
Feast of thy body, drink of thy blood
Doom sandwiches with lettuce, tomato, barley bread floating in the mud
And ere was the mustard, black enough for mine sustanance?
With fetid tater fries, oh succulent world as it dies.
Might I feast on mine doom, well past the expiration date?
As it sticks and it slivers from mine fork on the dinner plate.
The blade saws portions from the body as it writhes,
whence savage hunger picks thee apart in tithes.
Gluttony dripping dark lamentation from mine maw,
still I feel it wriggling as it dies upon my jaw.
Oh Fie! Oh madness! What is wrong with mine head?
Tis not doom, but leeches I dine upon instead!

[lonnarin]

Hail to the Darklord Czukay!
Hail! Hail!
Mail to the dreaded Count!
Send m'lord a cake!
With rotted flesh for body
iced with sweet bitter blood
shattered bone for sprinkles
eyeballs for cherries
gathered in his dreaded wake.

Huzzah to the Darklord Czukay!
Huzzah! Huzzah!
A saw to the Count of Madmen!
A Saw! A Saw!
For bodies seldom store well
in the pieces that they fell
saw through bone, cutting deep
so in his bag he'll keep
gathered in his dreaded wake

Praise to the Darklord Czukay!
Praise! Praise!
Gaze upon the Heart of Madness!
Oh dying dirge of dread!
For where marches he,
twitches in casualty
the dewdrops all crimson
aneath the Black Sun
gathered in his dreaded wake

So Hail to Darklord Czukay!

Send him a bloody cake!

[Interia_Discordius]

Huzzah to the Darklord Czukay!

Still loving the stuff. Keep up the amazing work!

[lonnarin]

Chains of Divinity

Fie upon thee, Milara the Mottled
Die beneath thee, Rilara bespottled
Sinthar's number two, the best ye'll ever be
even Broegar hath semblance of royalty
Yet ye creepeth underfoot like a slug in the sun
across charred rubble of this world undone
by thy lofty goals and stark treachery

May ye rule over this dust and ash
songs sung to thee aneath bloodied lash
Cracking cross thy back forever more
Cursed be ye, dark one we abhore

So fie upon thee, ye blackened wretched swine
to hell with thee and thy ambitions divine
Wouldst thou shatter the skies to grasp at starlight
and see it all undone in nary a fortnight?
The Red Dragon's hold on your soul complete
what thou seeth as victory naught but defeat
Tis not a crown on thy brow, but a leash round thy neck
So fie upon thee Milara, Fie thee straight to heck!

[pelordaes7]

I'll drink to that!

Nice one Farros...you really sing it like it is.
Czukay thanks you, the master bard of doom and fear.

[lonnarin]

Cross counters and tabletops
yon mistress of Chaos hops
Devastation lay in her wake
of spilt wine for malice sake
Lamentations of a carpet
crimson stained

Leap into Madness
oh ye of blackened paw
Latch unto mine leg
to bite and kick and claw,
only to primp and pur and prance
thy false dance of innocence

Devour yon chameleon clans dire
Tell-tale tails doth twitch with ire.
Maker of a thousand graves,
hunting all and everything
Tis it eternal souls ye crave?
Blood Rites; a thousand demons sing.

Oh mittens
fiercest above all the kittens
wherein didst this fire of fury spark?
wast thou a killer in a former life,
riding the lightning unto the next?
wast thou a bastard child,
twisted by thy life of strife?
Be ye a beast of the wild,
or be ye merely hexed?

No matter... thy story told,
quakes terror into even the bold.
The pitter patter of bloody splatters,
a poor jogger grasps his neck
and slips into silence forevermore.
Nothing else matters.

Oh Mittens,
Dread kitten...
Why dost thou taketh life?
I feed thee till ye could burst,
it does little to slake that thirst
of mindless blood, torment and rage.
Megaton fury in a tiny furry cage.

[Pseudonym]

// Lonnarin, I have two cats exactly like the fearsome Mittens!! Unfortunately, both of them rank somewhat higher than me on the household affection hierarchy so I just have to put up with their mindless blood, torment and rage!!

Bravo buddy! Sure, you are one weird dude, but man you make me laugh and amaze me in about equal measure.

[lonnarin]

That woman's gonna break me
train wreck that your could trust
phaser fire of her ire
a cold red beaming of her rust
Where was the dissolution
of her dead heart misery
and we go on and on and on
on wild semantics and illusion
life supports are all failing
we are spinning, it is dark
gods help us
I must keep conscious... talk to me
tell me that you're alive.
You are a dead thing
drifting there
your heels are an ice drift

[lonnarin]

Prayer of the Aeridenite at Last Death
--------------------------------------
The wounds need a clotting agency
those roots,... what are they?
Break off a tasting regeant
dont swallow it
apply some to your hand
is there a color change?
good... now spread as much of it
as you can... on the wound
the patient's going into shock
so what do I do? the doctor is unconscious
elevate the legs and press them
into the wound
now stay awake
and for gods sake
dont let them
get you....

[lonnarin]

Somewhere there is a fat man
dictating my every movements
my honor and glory all the mere mechanations
of a godly sloth's enjoyment.
Somewhere a sleeping giant
claims itself a titan
fully dwarfed and wanting
The winter dusk bodes a boney grove.
It slakes its thirst on spite.
And a boney slave makes its tomb.

[lonnarin]

Luxury is a cold solace
take this life and sympathy
our fate is naught but dust
and risen, we strive to fall
that which shimmers turns to rust
and I claw, and I climb
till the clouds smell sweeter
yet every angel that I find
flings slings and spears to my trust
manifest destiny

[lonnarin]

Crazy dwarf, what art thou doing?
Be ye mad, or mind of the beast?
Charge thee now into the center,
hear him cry out cry out, his soul released!
Milara stands his eyes a flicker
behind him roars bone wings of doom.
Noon sun on Storold's brow a'glimmer
blinding light and death and doom.
Crash, smack boom! Doom doom doom!
Crazy dwarf, where art thou going?
go thee now to lands far beyond.
The army stands, and shrugs in wonder
Hath any dwarf a pair like this crazy one?

[lonnarin]

*Spreads a whisky country folk political song about a local prisoner being persecuted by johnny law. Far away on another plane, Willy Nelson sheds a single, 40-proof tear.*

This here's the story of a man.
Grew up a man of the land.