Hi there all! I would like to ask if it is okay with the admins for a new book to have been produced with a selection of tunes and songs in. These would be some of the various bardic epics that would be in the book. Las would have financed the thing himself to bring culture to the people of Lismore! And a little bit of comedy. I would imagine it would become quite a cheap release, and the commoners would get hold of it. I think the 'Angry Emperor' would become a tavern singing favourite of drunk commoners!
Founding Lismore
To birth a nation,
Sent on wings of hope.
Those of injustice stood,
Like of obelisks of stone wrought flesh,
With those to who justice was rightly served.
Of all class came they,
Who’s dreams could be answered,
By strength of belief and iron of back,
Qualities in which we so rely.
Onwards they came,
Those from foreign lands sent.
Gave peace to the peace less,
Hope to the hopeless,
And purpose to the land.
Heroes they are who triumph with labour,
Though others seek to destroy.
From homeland to homeland,
For where is truly ones nest?
They are pioneer's of a new fatherland,
Builders of a nation,
The people, the heroes of Lismore.
The Glorious Palace
Behold! The palace of Lismore.
The Lords grim grey home,
Much succour to be found,
In this, glorious bastion of stone.
Over the land it does lord,
Bringing peace and power.
Pendants of might,
Fly from all towers.
Ever a warm hearth,
To this bard who do sing.
"Glory to Fu Sheng,
Our right and proper king!"
Religion of Lismore
On belief I now speak,
To all those who would hear.
Please, gather round,
Lend me your ears.
Of all religion we respect,
We will not seek to judge.
We all answer, somewhere,
To Lord or Lady, down or above.
So come all of you outcasts,
Bring your belief from where you roam.
We accept all these of good intention,
Any who would call noble Lismore home.
Thunder Hoofs (Dragon Horses)
Flashing hoofs, Long stride,
Lightning sparks across the planes.
The colour of birthing clouds,
Those earthbound, contained.
But noble beings of equine descent,
From dragon named,
For is such recognition not deserved?
Freedom personified in bestial grace,
They heed not god nor man.
Can others claim that they are better?,
Or worse are they for chasing desires,
Of freedom that will never be free.
Ode to Hodags
Spiky reptilian creature,
Immense fury it does posses.
Will charge you when unprepared,
Don’t dawdle, don’t jest.
Keep killing until it lies in pieces,
For in its rage it will never give in.
If chopped into little chunks,
You will absolve it of all sin.
Anti Troll Song
Hark, here these words!
Fight of the better men.
Stand form against foul beasts,
Use fire and acid to slay them.
Hold your nerve, let guts guide your blades,
And soon they will be diminished.
They will flee before your wrath,
and those who don’t are finished.
The Slaying of the Drakes
Wild green forest drakes,
One scarred across the eye.
Hiding in their lair,
Whimpering, afraid to die.
Its hoard we shall find,
Lives we shall take.
So onwards brave souls,
Fight on and noble combat make.
Into the cave the warriors delved,
And together, as opposites they found,
Two drakes intent on defence,
None prepared to give ground.
With hammer and black sword they slew,
The drakes fell before their fury.
Righteous death they did give,
As they fought back to back for glory.
The Ruthless Massacre of the Unarmed Mites
To arms! So bold so brave,
The fearless drove into the dark.
Beneath the twisted, decrepit bowel,
The heroes went unto their tasks.
Resistance called they!
But how can you resist?,
With sticks and stones,
Against sword and fire,
And burning desire,
Caca! but do they resist!
Emerging, battered and scared,
Maimed by the young ’twas said.
Victorious, but in victory,
Showed defeat of sanity,
Great heroes of Lismore!
Dragon Turtle
Onwards it came,
Half dragon, half fiend.
Such bastard offspring,
Had never been seen.
Its maw was great,
Teeth were aplenty.
No gold could appease it,
No words calm it down.
It made to attack them,
No doubt drag them to drown.
But noble was she,
And took flight on great wings.
For she was so nimble,
The creature so foul.
Great fire spew forth,
And it let out a howl.
It died in this world,
Slew by heroes of might.
And all would know,
Their actions were right...
The Other Dragon Turtle Song
Bothered was she?
A whore of hell.
She dared tread,
Where other better souls fell.
Boredom had took her,
She had not a care.
The creature was passive,
Not a threat anyone, anywhere.
On a whim she reacted,
And slew the helpless creature.
And again she had acted,
Without thought or morals,
Always her feature.
So I tell you of this,
For all you should know,
The actions of an evil hag,
’Twas murder most foul.
The Defenestrated Bard
Open arms we embraced,
Traveller of culture from afar.
Honey tongue he possessed,
He made great jest,
And whispered sweet nothings,
To eager ears without rest.
Soon his musings turned to dark seeds,
Of which he tried to sow.
But vigilant were those who cared,
And caught him in the act,
Where he told of the dark Pittax pact!
Disgrace! Outrage!
Was this anyway to behave?
He came to our fair city,
More to our pity,
The cur of Pittax let free.
He flew, he flew,
But how he never knew.
For a man soul foul,
He flew with scared howl,
From a window up high!
So beware this tale with dread,
For all those easily led.
For any who posses the tongue of a hellion,
May so easily incite rebellion!
Noman Centaurs
Many a tale is told about man,
Of dwarves, of elves, heroics unveiled.
But not of the centaurs from the tribe Noman.
At war they were,
With men who took all.
Seeking to expand into their land,
And sound battles clarion call.
Fierce, proud and strong,
They scoffed against man’s will.
Rode out they did in great throng,
Intent on war and ill will.
The humans did flee,
Against natures fury made flesh.
And the centaur’s of Noman tribe,
In victory they sing.
“We bend not leg or hoof to any human false king”
The Tale of Varnhold
Of events from afar,
Little is known.
Except of neighbour Varnhold,
A warriors home.
Crude of culture,
But stout of defence.
Manned by warriors,
Behind palisade fence.
Sent a diplomat they did,
To noble Lismore.
And in response I did fly,
Fly very far.
In the Governors Hall,
I made to perform.
But this did not appease,
For music and arts were not norm.
And so I tell of Varnhold,
Of men with no mind, but strong back.
And I ask of you this,
“Is there any wonder they fear attack?”
The Titan Below
Below, so deep slumbers a titan,
Held, restrained through heroic sacrifice.
Land shattering power is contained,
By a single souls strength of will.
Of all nations tasked, the mighty Lismore,
Located upon the fulcrum of disaster,
So valiantly keeps sentinel,
For safety of uncaring nations alone.
The beast, the dragon, the terror,
So immense that it dwarfs its own kind.
Such creature of old legend,
A scourge to deities and mortals alike.
If it awakens the land will shatter,
All cities reduced to ash and ruin.
Culture and civilization will tumble and fall,
And chaos and death will descend to all equally.
So join with our fair people,
Stand allied with us to our selfish task.
We accept with stout reservation,
To contain for all the titan, the legend, we must.
Angry Emperor
Emperor Fu Sheng was angry,
Oh yes he was.
Because people don’t listen,
It makes him quite cross.
Berate them he did,
With caustic tongue.
Until the breath had all left him,
and pain gripped his lungs.
The moral of this tale,
Is that Emperors do shout.
And when they do, peons,
You best listen and run about!
The Empty Bed
Why does the warrior sleep out side,
Alone in a dark, damp shed?
When such heroes of Lismore as he,
Deserve a warm lordly bed.
He must wallow in such sadness,
Which brings him so little joy.
Life to him is all honour and laws,
Embedded in him as a boy.
The colours of a rainbow,
The beautiful hues of dawn sky.
Such dedication as his is unsettling,
He may watch his life go idly by.
If maybe I could break the façade,
Create a spark to ignite kindle to flame.
Is his iron hard face a front?
Maybe his upbringing is to blame.
I would never put emotion to him,
But even I can be proved wrong.
It seems no mortal can be with out heart,
To who or what does his belong?
So wandering warrior go find a lordly bed,
Stay out of the late autumn cold.
Maybe even you will find the comfort you seek,
And find a loving soul to hold.
Dead Gold
Gold ring, cold dead finger,
Body freshly dead upon the floor.
Do you mind if I take your possessions?
You wont need them any more.
No burial for you, disrespect,
For we don’t know to which god's your pray.
Shame really, your gold is pretty,
So ill just take it and get away.
Anything of your we know have,
Pull your gold teeth, pawn your shoes.
In death you don’t need anything,
You pulled the short straw and lose.
Empire and kingdoms, financed on death,
The gold of martyr's, or lord's and kings.
Such carrion currency deities abhor,
May such places burn in hell's flames.
