A hunter proud stood on a hill, both happy and content.
His skill fed all his growing tribe. His elders honor sent.
The maidens looked at him with awe, and one was special, too.
A life of hunting, love and babes stretched out before his view.
But on a hunt he was struck down, not by his prey at all.
And not in battle hon'rable was he content to fall.
A band of war-bent mercenaries slew him as he stood
And chopped at his poor corpse as though 'twere made of only wood.
No chance had he to even fight, against the Vorax-crazed.
No time to grasp a weapon tight and strike a blow that dazed.
No growing child would look to him for pattern for its life
Nor would the Orcs call Corash' shade to keep them safe from strife.
And yet, and yet, One saw the rout and thought to use it well.
He snatched the dead unto himself in very depths of hell.
An orc, great orc, enormous grown, in hate and power strong,
'Twas Grand himself, betrayed himself, who sought to use this wrong.
Red Raven then, Grand named the dead, and brought it back to life,
To life, but only for revenge, tied to a dreadful knife.
The blade glowed red, Red Raven blade, imbued with all Grand's hate
Red Ravens both, they drank Grand's blood, accepting then their fate.
Still Corash did not know that fate, the deaths that lay in store.
He went, he thought, to get revenge from one of Vorax's spore.
A dwarf he found in distant Hlint, and challenged him to fight,
Skullcracker proved his name that day, though others helped his might.
In agony Corash arose, no peace for him in death.
Again he strove, again he lost, again he had no breath.
In agony Corash arose, death could not ease his pain.
But now he seemed to understand he'd die and die again.
"Vorax!" he screamed. "Vorax betrays! In this fight you serve Grand!"
With skill that rose as fighters closed, he fought with blade in hand.
His god's red drink empowered him. He fought with verve and dash,
And yet again, a Vorax win, he died of Skull's fell bash.
Again he drank the evil blood; again he rose from clay,
But now Corash more thoughtful seemed, "You've helped me on this day."
"Stand back. I'll go, for now," he said. "Stand back or I will kill."
With measured tread he left the town; he'd made it know his will.
Bound tight to Grand with ties of blood, Red Raven rules his kin.
He pushes them to Grand's designs upon the world of men.
And yet, and yet, does Corash live within that stern domain?
Does Corash mourn the hunt, the love, the maiden without claim?
Could Corash still put down the blade and take his spear anew?
Or is he now Red Raven, just Grand's weapon thru and thru?
Does Corash mourn the hunt, the love, the maiden left behind?
Or is he just Red Raven, and a blade that kills, that's blind?
And THEN, oh then the shaman STRUCK and broke the dreadful blade
With spell so strong it smote them both and took a hand in trade.
We healed them both, but only one arose from that black hell--
Poor Corash slept, his self sleeps still in Aeridin's fair dell.
Will hunter ever proudly stand upon a hill content?
Will mate and child live by his skill, and honor fill his tent?
As gods have spoiled, so gods may save, and folk may help his plight.
We wait the will of Aeridin to aid us in the fight.
--by Ayla Bineau, bard and servant of Aeridin
