3 acessos
[The Chronicles of War:]
Thevast armies of Mytos K'unn, marshalled by a sorceress of great power
knownasZyrashanatheWitch-Queen,hadbeen cutting a swath through the
EasternKingdomssince high summer the preceding year. Empowering her troops
withgreatsorceries,she had s een all opposition fall before the ravening
swordsofherforcessincethe first bloody campaign; the invasion of the
ancient and noble realm of Delania. The aftermath of the final battle had seen
thesystematicslaughterof the Delanian royal family, an d the torture and
executionof all those who had been loyal to their banner. During the ensuing
months,morekingdomsand satrapies toppled before the might of Zyrashana's
legions,commandedbythe fearsome and unswervingly loyal battle-lord Talus
Ebonfyre, a man of sublime brutality whom many beleived to be possessed by a
demon-spiritfromthedarkrealms.Emboldenedby their victories and the
expansionof their queen's dark dominion, the hordes of Mytos K'unn began the
incursionintothe lands of the Northern Tribes, beginning with the grim and
brooding territories south of the Snow Kingdoms... the rugged homelands of the
warlikeclanswhichhadbeenrecentlyunitedinto a strong realm by the
powerful warrior-king Caylen-Tor, a man known to his allie s and enemies alike
astheWolf of the North. Thinking the barbaric tribesmen little threat, the
Witch-Queenintendsa largely unopposed march throught their lands to strike
atthe wealthy and fertile realms beyond the Mountain Kingdoms to the west...
bu t Caylen-Tor has vowed that a searing torrent of blood and steel shall meet
allthosewho deign to enter unwelcome or drive their standard unbidden into
hisland... As grim winter slowly yields to spring, the armies of Mytos K'unn
begintheirmarchnorthwards,and news of the advance of the Witch-Queen's
forcesinto Blackhelm Vale, the valley known for centuries as the Gate to the
Northlands, soon reaches the highla nd stronghold of Caylen-Tor. Grimly taking
uphisswordandspear and donning the woad of war, he vows that Zyrashana
shall pay in blood for every league she has dared venture in his sacred lands.
Scoutssoonreturn with the information that the enemy is camped at the base
ofthevalley,preparingtomarchwith th dawn. The court shamans forsee
riversofbloodanduntoldcarnage,andgreat battlespells are woven as
Caylen-Torleadshisvastlyoutnumbered Northlander warriors to the misty,
moon-swathedexpansethat is Blackhelm Vale. Legends say that the blood of
manykingshasbeenspilledonthedarkearthofthe valley over the
generations, and Caylen-Tor promises to his grim gods that the earth will once
againdrinkdeepthis night. With his army si lent and brooding beneath the
moon, he knows that whatever the outcome, this night shall see a legend of war
written in blood and the deaths of men... a legend none shall soon forget...
[The War Testament of Caylen-Tor (On the Night of the Bloodying of Swords):]
O' grim gods of battle, empower us this night...
Anoint us with the crimson rain, feed our steel with slaughter...
Let every blow be a killing blow, grant us victory, or a warrior's death.
Come, moon-fogs, Descend to cloak our numbers, the heady scent of battle
beckons,
My ash-hafted spear feels good in my hands, girt 'round with spells (our flesh
gloriously) woad anointed,
Ravens awaiting slaughter soar high above, blood-worms bloat on red carnage,
I'll carve the moon-wheel in their flesh, as havoc churns the heather!
Aswirling mantle of mist-magic swathes us, powerful spells woven by the
fen-witchesof the great mere... Deep night and moon-mist shall be our allies
aswesurge into the fray! At my bidding, the fog clears for a brief moment,
andIgazedownuponthe v alley to behold the army of the Witch-Queen...
great tents arrayed upon the heather, powerful steeds tethered, the light from
countless burning brands illumining the night, many warriors standing, weapons
in hand... aye, all sword fodder.
Entwined in war-fogs...
Entwined by war-spells...
Blessed in blood as raven-saters, slake the thirst of steel burning bright,
Reap the harvest of spilled entrails, we'll return with many heads this night.
The death-ravening black fury fills me,
The spatter of hot blood seet on my lips,
This yard of steel sings a deadly song in my grasp!
Cleaving bodies left and right, a head falls with each swing of my blade,
A storm of shafts screaming form yew-bows, (through their armoured ranks we
shall) carve a path with steel, a blood-drenched swath!
And the thirst of the earth shall be slaked with blood at the fields of
carnage...
A staggering sea of crimson, a towering mountain of ravaged flesh,
All enraptured by the searing kiss of steel,
All surfeit from supping deep of the grim chalice of battle...
Brooding gods of the north, display to these outlander thralls thine ire,
Envenom our blades with the death-kiss of a thousand serpents,
Unfetter the dread war-wolves within us,
That their claws may rend, and their jaws may be reddened.
The bloodying is at hand!
Myspearhammersintothe chest of a warrior, and bright blood erupts
fromhislips as he falls to the heather. I turn aside a vicious swordthrust
andmyownbladesnakesoutto cleave the neck of the attacker, shearing
throughhisveins in a shower of d ark red. An enemy blade opens my shoulder
tothebone,butI sweep my axe out in a deadly arc, its iron head rending
armourand biting deep into flesh. Talus Ebonfyre's abdomen yawns open and he
staggersbackashis intestines spew forth in a pulsing mas s. I sunder his
headwith another blow as he falls and his skull yields to spill its steaming
contentstotheearth.As I watch, a writhing, shadowy form rises from the
smittencorpseoftheWitch-Queen'swarlordandfleeshowling into the
night...Ivau lt to the saddle of a riderless black war-horse and seize the
bannerofMytos-K'unn...for every one of us that has fallen, we have taken
five of the enemy screaming with us... the battle is ours!
Brightmoon,gleamo'ermoor and heather, wood and vale, deep fen and
lake,Grimmountains crowned with snows, great rings of stones, black 'neath
thestars,Thestormsextol our ancient glory, great mounds feed us, power
fromthesacredearth. With faith and steel we walk our shadowed paths, our
blood runs as fire, swords blessed by sorcery.
Wolves of the north, raise thine steel to the skies, revel in the pride of
your wounds,
Let our victory-song ride the winds of this blood-gorged eve,
For on this night of red swords we have wrought a legend,
Forged in the fires of our rage, and tempered with the spilled blood of the
slain...
O' grim gods of battle, empower us this night and always,
Anoint us with the crimson rain, forever feed our steel with slaughter...
Let every blow be a killing blow, grant us eternal victory, 'til we die a
warrior's death.
AndsodidCaylen-Torturnthearmiesof Mytos K'unn back from the
frontiersof his northern kingdom. Those enemy soldiers who fled the field as
themistliftedand their banner fell, are hunted down and brought to their
kneesbeforethe king. Summoning a surviving warrior Mytos K'unn, Caylen-Tor
gives unto him two gifts with which to return to his queen; one is the fallen,
sunderedbannerofMytosK'unn,theotheristhecloven head of Talus
Ebonfyre.The king's words ring out over the blood-drenched m oor: "Take this
messagebacktoyour queen... if ever again she deigns to strike against my
people,theslaughter this night will seem as naught compared to the havoc I
shallvisitupon her then." When news of the defeat and the fearsome message
ofCaylen-TorreachedMytosK'unn, Zyrashana's spells of regal dominance
waned,andher many courtiers and councillors, liberated from the imposition
ofsubservience,plottedagainst their queen, 'til soon she was driven from
thegreatroyalpalacebyherownel ite guard, her throne seized by an
ambitiousbaronwho had won the favour of the nobles and mages of the realm.
Evadinginprisonmentandsurvivingonlybyhermasteryofspellcraft,
Zyrashanafledtothesatrapies of the east, and nothing more was seen or
heard of her for some considerable time...
[Lyrics: Byron]
[Music: Jonny Maudling]