Oritolon (Realm)/Songs

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The Heros Lament

Commissioned by Erisha Da Hadez, Baroness of Iglavik, on the eve of the battle of Grentzen.


Come sit by me and dry your tears,
It is not right my love,
To weep, to sob, to grieve tonight,
For those who's time hath come.

The enemy may promise death,
But they shall always fear,
A simple farmer taking arms,
To save what he holds dear.

I can but hope the scribes will write,
Of deeds that we have done,
Recast those words as lullabies,
And sing them to our son.

The fields of Grentzen call to me,
And I cannot ignore,
The legacy of peace hard won,
By those who went before.

Now day is near and I must go,
Must leave your warm embrace,
It is not my fate that saddens me,
But the tears upon your face.

The dawn may separate us love,
As a stream around a stone,
But the streams will meet again, my love,
And never be alone.


Windarian Ode

Commissioned by Duke Corum of the Eternal Champions.


Mountains high of white and snow,
with murky trees and loads of stone,
where all is free but still wont go,
this no man's land they call their home.

On lakes of grey and fiery ice,
Sun's gloomy lights reflect the sky,
Hail clouds so thick, storm clouds so vain
the chasms of rock they split in twain,

between to pass and to feel safe
for it is warm this cold embrace,
then eagles yield to greet you by
and bards will sing to hear a rime.

The narrow road will twist and turn
in lands so high where frost will burn,
and when you reach the final step
you'll see the sands of Narrowdep,

you'll see the painful mountain ridge,
all the way down to Lukon bridge,
above all else on hardened top,
the day will come to rule the world.


When Alowca Fell

Written by Count Antonine Octavius on his return home from the capture of Alowca.


Fierce was the wind when Alowca fell,
Strong was Oritolon when Alowca fell,
Brave was the enemy when Alowca fell,
Great was the joy when Alowca fell.

From western desert to eastern wood,
Came Oritolon; strong, true and good.
With sword and lance, with axe and bow,
Came we to fight our foe.

Fierce was the wind when Alowca fell,
Strong was Oritolon when Alowca fell,
Brave was the enemy when Alowca fell,
Great was the joy when Alowca fell.

Against their walls our men did press,
And though our enemies were good and fresh,
Alowcan guile could not best Oritolon steel,
Commanded we the wall, afore e’en the morning meal.

Fierce was the wind when Alowca fell,
Strong was Oritolon when Alowca fell,
Brave was the enemy when Alowca fell,
Great was the joy when Alowca fell.

Under cover of dark, the Alowcans did creep,
And by morn the walls again under their forces did creak,
So once more unto the breach Oritolon did go,
And yet again Alowcan blood did flow.

Fierce was the wind when Alowca fell,
Strong was Oritolon when Alowca fell,
Brave was the enemy when Alowca fell,
Great was the joy when Alowca fell.

On the third day ‘twas all clear,
For though the price had been dear,
Alowca for once and all crushed had been,
And the sun on Oritolon’s banners did beam.

Fierce was the wind when Alowca fell,
Strong was Oritolon when Alowca fell,
Brave was the enemy when Alowca fell,
Great was the joy when Alowca fell.

Though it did take eight more days,
The city folk upon our banners did gaze,
For Alowca now was under our command,
Our dominion stretching o’er sea and land.

Fierce was the wind when Alowca fell,
Strong was Oritolon when Alowca fell,
Brave was the enemy when Alowca fell,
Great was the joy when Alowca fell.


Salute The Barmaid

Folk song. Inscribed for posterity by Ayden Da Hadez, Chief Historian of Oritolon.


The farmers say her eyes are green,
As stalks of growing corn.
That those who seek her welcome,
Are rarely seen 'fore dawn.

So raise your mug,
And raise your voice,
And raise your scythe to she,
Who has the fulsome flagon,
And offers it to thee.

The sailors claim her eyes are grey,
As seas amid the storm.
That those who try to sail the waves,
Are lost before the dawn.

So raise your mug,
And raise your voice,
And raise your mast to she,
Who has the fulsome flagon,
And offers it to thee.

The soldiers swear her eyes are blue,
As the flat edge of a blade.
That those who gain her favour,
March gladly to their fate.

So raise your mug,
And raise your voice,
And raise your sword to she,
Who has the fulsome flagon,
And offers it to thee.

The hunters state her eyes are brown,
As the trunks of forest trees.
That those who try to snare her,
Find a wolf beneath the fleece.

So raise your mug,
And raise your voice,
And raise your spear to she,
Who has the fulsome flagon,
And offers it to thee.