Thursday, March 18, 2010

Sorry for the Hiatus

Hello to all the wonderful who put up with the mad and intermittent ravings if this humble (almost) madman. As you all can imagine, school gets in the way sometimes. I have actually done quite a bit of writing, but most of it has been in German. However in the past two days I have spent around 8 hours pounding out a semi-skaldic epic. I hope you all enjoy it.

Epic of the Blinded One

Lo in the days of old,
of Arthur and the Helm
of Blinding Faith, Guard’ans
of the Balance arose
to face the dreadful Plight. 5
‘Twas said that a man tipped
Balance ‘twixt Good and Ill.
This man awoke the Dead,
wrested the immortals
from their slumber. 10

So it was in the days of Old.
All was lost, the sun grew cold.
He wandered the wind whipped
wastes of white. Trees adorned:
Armor of dross and ice. 15
A Man of Pride did rise.
He sought the artifacts,
those godly gifts of Grace.

That man of Ice-sharp eyes,
wintered breath. His will froze
the tide so that he might
break the crashing waves of
that Usurper –Waker 20
of those that Slumber. Ice
Eyes rode upon c’rrupted
Knights of Arthur, in those
days when already lost.
He fought bedeviled knights; 25
round table he did toss.
Winter breath set captive
souls free. He claimed the Blade
of Lore – sword of Arthur.
Ice Eyes chased the Waker. 30
He was entranced by the curséd
gaze o’ he who challenged gods.
Many times did As-disk
rise before the Winter
breath’d warrior awoke, 35
hands deep in the blood of
innocence. Crumpling
to the ground, the Wielder
of Arthur’s honor pled
his penance to the gods: 40
Balance and Good and Ill.
Tyr, that old Judge, deemed what
all found acceptable.
The god of the hand struck
the sockets of Ice-Sharp 45
Eyes blind. Poetry-Tyr
gifted the Blinded One
with a helm. The Helm of
Blinding Faith. “He who can
not see in Darkness is 50
truly blinded.”

So it was in the days of Old,
when all was lost and nights were cold.
He wandered through thicket
and glazed glass glade. To face 55
the Tigermen – Rakshasa -
on Steeds of Flame, melting
swaths through the air and plain.

The Blinded One faced brave
the enemy, e’en struck 60
with poison arrows. He
fell to Hrym’s Brow, his arm
lame as Maiméd-Odin.
The Nightmare Rider bore
death down on him, flowing 65
fire following behind.
Wintered Breath extended
his bloodied blade, gave gods
his mind. Blaze of As-fire
spewed from his shining sword, 70
skewered the steed, stopping
the slayer. Slowly his
salvation struck him.
Strength-Odin renewed him,
standing him aright. 80
Serpent-gift slithered ‘way.

So it was in the days of Old
All was lost and the Sun grown cold.
He wandered through dangers,
drifted through whiteroads. 85
Rumors of the Waker’s Ill
spread to the stout statured.
Demons assailed the Chain.

The Wielder of that Sword
of Light shone in the deep. 90
He found those stout hearted
folk slain by slavering
Loki-spawn, their sin to
succeed. The few dwarves that
survived, slaved at simm’ring 95
mines. Their chin-pride singed ‘way.
Scorchéd pride spawns searing
justice. Sword-wielder offered
a chance to claim honor.
They clamored for conflict. 100
They cast off their chains to
defend Chain of Being.
They fought the demons and
destroyed. Demise deigned turn
none away. Dwarves 105
dedicated to th’Deep.
That Shining Light recovered
the Chain. He secured it
to the safe Book-Thor’s
Reliquary. Book-Thor 110
bequeathed the Blinded One
a boon for’his brave battle
of Balance. The Book of
Blood, a cursed artifact
written to grant a last 115
chance to who must rebuild
Balance. Winter Breathéd
Warrior would wage war
against that evil Wizard,
Waker of Slumberer. 120

So it was in the days of Old
All were lost and the sun was cold
He wandered through dangers,
drifted upon whiteroads
Demons of dross dying 125
destroyed for the Balance.
The Sword slashed a swath so
that all might be re-found.

Lo, did he chase Waker
of the Slumberer, to 130
a Keep of Cauldrons and
Cicatrices. Usurper
of the Balance had prepared
himself for the Wielder –
that Bringer of Light. 135
Warriors of Wrath waited
for the watchful Winter
breath’d Blinded One. He fought
with honor, he the Hail
of Holy blows. His Blade 140
bowed only for Balance.
No warrior waited
long beneath his wrath-blade.
The warriors were cleaved
in twain. 145

So it was in the Days of Old,
The As-disk lost, hearts grew cold.
He watched for Warriors,
Shining Sword of Salvation
shone in the Deep. Justice 150
to the unjust. Just his
duty to Balance.
And still he descended

He descended the Deep
Stair to th’darkness beyond
blindness, but he could see. 155
His title the Wearer
of the Helm of Blinding
Faith. “He who cannot see
in darkness is truly
blind.” The Wielder of that 160
hopeful Sword said. Long years
did the Dark-sighted one
descend, dipping, drooping
‘neath Time’s dilapidated
hand. At long last, he reached 165
the bottom, an aged man.
His sight was no less sharp,
for he saw true – a gift
from shining god – Odin.
His muscles were weakened 170
by the weathering and
withering of wasteful
Time. He could no longer
heft the Blade, heavy as
it was with hope. Then the 175
Slumberer – that old Dragon –
did speak. “You have traveled
an age to find my servant,
the Waker. He is gone.
Time is past. His era 180
has ended, as has yours.
Mine has begun. I am
the Slumberer of Souls.
You cannot see me, servant,
but I survey your shallow 185
sockets, sagged with sorrow
and strain. Sliced from sockets
for your sins. Surrender
yourself to Solace. Give
up the Ghost.” 190

So it was in the days of Old
the Wielder lost, the sun grown cold
He who wandered the wastes,
now descends to denounce
Usurper of Balance. 195
Demise deigns to turn none
away. The Wielder grown
old must too his debt pay.

The Hero – that Blinded
One – surrendered no thing. 200
He brought out the Book of
Blood, read the pages with
his hand. Strength-Odin him
again renewed. Hefting
his hope, he heaved it at 205
Slumberer. Blood blasted
from the blest arm. The Blade
burrowed into the bone
of that Ancient Dragon.
A roar of rage resounded 210
through the death-thick air.
“Balance must be restored.”
The Book of Blood flew in
the air, as the Dragon
came crashing towards the bleeding 215
battler for Balance. The
Holy Blade of Arthur
was wrested from the Slumb’rer’s
side. Streams of sun shot from the
Blinded One’s eyes. The Light 220
lanced that old Dragon, life
leaked from the Slumberer.
The Hero and Dragon
latched together, light with dark.
The Balance was maintained. 225
Good for Ill. Ill for Good.

So it was in the days of Old,
all was lost and the sun grew cold.
The Blind One saw, his aim
was true. He slew that Old 230
Dragon with that Hope:
The Sword of Arthur. Book
of Blood claimed the Balance.
Both were embraced by Death.

So it was in the Days of Old. 235