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« on: August 06, 2009, 10:37:48 PM »
If perhaps the poem was not to everyone's satisfaction then how about what follows below:
The fire had burned down, reddish coals casting shadows that took the shapes of old. They quietly sat around the hearth drinking deep, casting smoke rings to the vaulted carved ceiling forever stained. Every Nogarung kept full. The kegs of ale seemed as boundless as the stories that were told and it was true this night, the Night of Zagaz. One of the drinkers nodding his thanks to a younger clan-warrior-kin whose duty it was to keep the tankards full this night took a deep puff on his calumet that cast a red glow from the pipes bowl that illuminated revealing the fathomless lines of his face that is framed by stark white braided locks and beard offset by the runic engraved gold beard and hair rings beset with blood red rubies and bright green emeralds. His bright steel blue eyes sparkled with life. Till now he said nothing which was not all that unusual for this hall was set aside for those who sought peace though from every wall hung the weapons of war, some untouched for centuries others just newly hung. Every weapon and shield had its own story to tell of honor, duty, bravery, and death. Some were notched, some had broken hafts but they all had their own unique story. Tonight the Throngrink of the Warriors Guild spoke in the ancient Khazalid of his ancestors and he did so in the form set aside by the bards and heralds. Thus Rungni Gottrison recited several stanzas of the Lay of Kazad Zharr of Norsca lost during the first millennia and regained.
Rock hard sharp as ice
Dwelt those of Grimnir
Cold halls now darkened
Lie deep the bitter memories
Axe hammer shields broken
Bones mingled friend foe
Locked in battle locked in death
Eternally entombed but not forgotten.
Hot fires and forged blades
Tempered stoked with revenge
Horn blares, roll calls drummed
Iron shod armored might
Grim resolve Hammerers all
Hall by hall they charged forth
From Golden gates to mined rock
Dawi won foe be done.
The young clansman refilled every Nogarung tankard in the Hall and it seemed that he no sooner finished filling one than he started around again. When the Throngrink of the Warriors Guild recited the Lay of Kazad Zharr he seemed to be drawn into the past and he looked up at the walls hung with weapons, shields, and captured banners and wished to know the history of each. How they came to be hung and who the owner was where they fought and died. He felt his own weapon hung across his back the leather wrapped haft protruding above his right shoulder and wondered if some day in the far future his would hang upon this wall or perhaps carried by his kin as they fought and died for the Hold. As he set out platters of fresh toasted bread with melted cheese one of the Gormtrommi spoke and Algrim Druminson was captured by the ancient Khazalid and the images of an a Hold preparing for an invasion, he shivered not as he listened to Gormtrommni through out the room. Nearby a one-eyed warrior spoke;
With banners wind snapped
Across frozen seas they came
Driven not by lust of gold
Nor hindered by Umgi needs.
They came the warrior of Dum
Amidst dry rattle of skulls
Creaking leather and armor
with wild grim exaltations for Khorne.
Then another who added his own lines to the Zagaz told this night;
High upon mountain top
The horns sounded the call
To arms, to arms is heard the cry
From high to low throughout the realm
Mustered Clan Thane
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