dwarf poetry

[VolcanosD]

*zafar wanders into the tavern and recites a poem he heard as a child*


The Ancestors Rest Lightly

Lightly doeth the dead sleep
Still linked by silver cords
To those they loved,
The living.
I can feel them gather round,
Just beyond the veil and
In candle flames their smiles appear
As their whispers from the shadows
Tickle my mind.
“Do you remember this?” they ask.
And I do.
And I do in love and reverence
Tell their stories to the young
Whom never knew them
For their souls were gone before their birth.
I call them to my mind
Holding them in my heart
For when it comes my time to pass on
They will joyously be waiting
To fold me in their love again.

In the last days of Lokakuu
The dead rest lightly.

Strommni Skull Krusher Ragnison
Lokakuu 2007

[Riven]

*A dour dwarf, beard-deep in pints of mead, raises his head and tries to fix bleary-eyes upon Zafar. His brows furrow at the poem, and his eyes cloud even more, trying to understand.*

"That be dwarven poem?" He muttered.

*He shakes his head, as if trying to rid it of an annoying gnat, obviously not understanding the words or poetry. Standing, he finishes an ale, gives a loud burp and speaks loudly*

"Here be a right good dwarven riddle for ye all!"

"Beaten upon, in great din of battle,
I try to withstand the blows that rain upon my master.
I go ahead of him, and meet the sharp-edged steel with my strong chest.
Woe upon my master, if some keen axe cleaves me asunder!"

[VolcanosD]

*zafar laughs while slapping A dour dwarf on the back of his head playfully. he laughs as the dwarf's beard steeped in mead bobbles like a buoy*

ya dat be a poem. me friend told me. ya seem to got a better one? but dat was simple. simple i tell ya. even ze elf maiden could guez da'one. ha,

*pointing to the other people in the tavern*

well ya got one. how about ya or ya? lets all share in a bit of the grog.

* if possible, zafar tries to inspire the dwarf and others to join him in a simple song *

//he sings a common song that all would know//

[Angelic]

Lyn, not entirely sure whether Strommni wanted his songs sung amongst non-dwarves, thinks it best to remember his origins, just in case those hearing his ode are tempted to scribe said poem in future and find themselves in accidental & unwilling strife. Lyn, raised amongst the dark elves (who settle their legal disputes across drawn blades) and is therefore not terribly au fait with such matters, thinks it better safe then sorry and to give Strommni due recognition.

[VolcanosD]

*zafar spouts more verse*

ting ting ting
ring ring ring
goes my ears
from the long years
of under dwelling
for mineral selling

ting ting ting
ring ring ring
goes my ears
i yearn for seers
'show me ze way'
'show me ze way'

with my soul
ill pay, show me the way

and did a light come
from the sun

from family - removed
no longer de dwarvian son

oi vonder now the world
of bright and quiet.

*zafar sips his mead*

[Riven]

*A human in travel-stained leathers and a faded green cloak stands and nods to all in the tavern, a sly grin playing upon his humble face. He runs his hands through a rat's nest of spikey reddish hair, and clears his throat. *

"A riddle from my pa then, Oldo Egilsson."

*He glances about self-consciously, then tunes the hoarse harp of his voice, and chants the riddle.*

"A shining ship came wandering over wave,
Glorious in sight, deadly bane in the night.
Loudly resounding, it's laughter was grisly.
Huge and magnificent, it's edges were sharp.
Slow to give battle, then cruel in the strife.
It broke through shield walls,
And crushed our ship's timbers.
Pitiless, deadly, wrecker of fools"

[Skull Krusher]

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

[Skull Krusher]

Mustered Clan Thane