‘A tale of two cities’

A saga of Sarbreenar, rendered by Is’salu Gravesong.
Premièred in the Elk’s Roost.

Is’salu Gravesong, sipped a long draught of honeyed milk, enjoying the chilled sensation as it cooled his throat. He stood silently, and moved so that he could see everyone at the table. All was silent for a moment as the star elf reached into his robes and slowly produced a unique musical instrument. It seemed to be on first impression a lyre, but the soft red woods used in its construction were not of Toril's origin. Its frame held 19 strings.

There was a pause. Sure that he had everyone's attention, he began, his fingers dancing over the stringed instrument as he sang out in his usual whispered and unearthly tone.

“Gather then, and listen well; a story told in song...
A tale of two cities; a fight for Right or Wrong.
The mage, 'ere called be Godwin; did send us on our way.
Who would have guessed our simple tests would soothe and win the day?
Now, harken as I recount the band that walked that path:
Yay, verily that group that braved the godly aftermath.

At our head stood William: a warrior bold and pure.
At our rear, Sir Arrow: His bow sang keen and sure.
Miss Steele made our middle flank, The Wanderer did the same.
Our trump card, yay was Vohan: Our ace in Fate's latest game.
I alone stood watching, a lantern in my hand.
Together we made choices that would shape this noble land.

The journey started well enough, our troupe made good time:
For the City of High Haspur, The pivot of this rhyme.
Our hearts were filled with purpose, our path was straight and true...
If only then had the thought of what we would need go trough!
Know you better than I, of the "betrayal" these gnomes spoke:
For moments long we stood and paused, as if from some dream awoke.

That of "Sarb's Alliance", with creatures of hate and doom,
That an alliance would never be agreed while we stay in his throne room.
When all seemed doomed to fail, there shone a ray of hope.
A messenger of another, of whom would not say "nope".
Therein we spoke to Cliffjapper, a gnome of some renown:
All he wanted done was to preserve the gnomish crown.

In turn, he spoke of treaty: the goal that we did seek.
If we could sort a problem that had plagued him for a week.
A priest (to which we were introduced), spoke of his missing child:
A daughter he missed greatly, lost within the wilds.
Our heads bowed down in unison, our mission crystal clear:
To find his missing daughter and end paternal fears.

So off we sped on southwards, our collective strength of will:
'Til erstwhile we found ourselves before a giant mill.
This mill! My friends, I must confess, disturbed me more than most:
Gone were beams and timbers, replaced with metal post!
One entrance did we locate, a tunnel dark and hollow:
Yet onward my companions marched: so I was compelled to follow.

They say in the darkness, your greatest fears gain form:
Indeed, I felt a shudder more astute than my usual norm.
My companions seemed eager: with unknown problems to solve ...
The candle in the lamp I held wavered like my resolve.
Shall I tell you of each tunnel, with its oppressive metal rooms?
Or recount the horrid corridor, which traps spelled our false doom?

Nay, I speak of neither, except only to say:
Without the help of my companions, I would not be singing today.
Trail after trail did my companions endure:
Never did they lose their hope: their resolve just and pure.
It seems they were used to this, as if this were old news:
Even when aroused from slumber, they never lost their views.

We soon made for the apex, of this gnomish nightmare maze
(Yay, complete with construct that even Vohan couldn't faze!)
The top we found the daughter, a captive if you will ...
Pining for her lost love, as she gazed from her window's sill.
Further up we found her love, Harpic was the name.
Yet also playing for her love was Fleetwood just the same!

I must confess I knew little, of what and who and where:
but since the gnome's daughter was safe, I sweetly didn't care.
Then a strange occurrence, as we delivered the priest's child:
A god there sat where once the priest was sat, so calm and mild!
The daughter was his truly, and since we saved her life ...
he pledged his pet badger to us, for our times of pain and strife.

A badger, yes a badger... but one I'm sure you've spied ...
Titanic was this creature! Impossible to hide!
So therein is my tale, and I know it's not all to tell ...
I may speak of more much later...but I must rest a spell ...”

The last chords echoed from his lyre, and he paused, allowing his only real love to flitter away, as the notes were replaced with the sounds of the patrons.

Is’salu Gravesong – Voice of the Seladrine
"Consistency is the crutch of the unoriginal."

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