it's nice to get some work done. It really is.
9 years agoexniner
9 years agoexniner
This was a lot of work...let me know what you think!
The forces met on a field of green
within the Valley of Fayre
the forests edge was burned and torn
black smoke filled the air.
The hills between the forces two
were low and rolling on
the grass was wet, the ground was soft
the air hot from the sun.
The force atop the western hill
did goad their leader forth,
innumerable men did stretch to the south
as well as to the north.
A man in armor boldly strode
atop his ochre steed
and with his sword held high o'erhead
he spake, Ã¢â‚¬Å“This land we need!Ã¢â‚¬Â
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Its fields are rich, its waters pure
its mountains rich with ore,
these people here are not as good
as we, we need it more!Ã¢â‚¬Â
The force upon the other side
were farmers, merchants, priests
They carried pitchforks, mattocks, scythes,
they trembled in the heat.
They were in numbers great like sand
but warriors they were not
the people of the land of Nod
their warlike past they forgot.
Their leader was a learned man
upon an elder gray
a sword he carried at his side
his books were put away.
His people looked to him in pride
their leader he was strong
but a warrior he was not,
the weapon, it felt wrong.
He trembled as he so stepped forth
The man called Teacher John
and though the foe was fierce
he knew he must march on.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“We of Nod,Ã¢â‚¬Â he so began
Ã¢â‚¬Å“are men of peace, not war
But the greed of men, it has no bounds
their hearts are tempted sore
Ã¢â‚¬Å“So we will fight to keep our rights
to hold the tide of greed,
Heroes will be made this day
in our time of great need!Ã¢â‚¬Â
The men of Nod they cheered and shouted
though fear it filled their heart
for in the battle ere to be met
blood and life would part.
Then from the northeast came a horn
the men of Nod did turn
for down the road did a small troupe ride
for battle they did burn.
They bore a banner high and wide
A field of green, a boar of black,
the leader he was tall and strong,
blade and axe across his back.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“These brigands from the land Sarl
the battle 'gainst must be won,
and who better to fight at your side
than Bulvyf Alricson!
Ã¢â‚¬Å“My Savages may number few
but vicious are we all,
and for the land of Nod we'll fight
'Till one by one they fall!
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Our Lady gives us strength to fight
our blades are sharp and strong
For Nod is not the stronger here,
And those of Sarl are wrong!
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Us Savage few, we know the ways
of battle tried and true
And for Nod we'll kill and slay
'Cause that's what Savages do!Ã¢â‚¬Â
The men of Nod they stomped and shouted
and for the Savages cheered
But Teacher John found Bulvyf's side
saying, Ã¢â‚¬Å“We've not battled in years!
Ã¢â‚¬Å“We have not the numbers, nor the skill
to fight this Sarlian horde!Ã¢â‚¬Â
But Bulvyf just began to laugh
saying, Ã¢â‚¬Å“That's why I have me sword!Ã¢â‚¬Â
Not waiting for the men of Nod
the twenty Savage's marched
and like the grass before the wind
the men of Nod did part.
The Sarlian horde watched Savage few
ride out to meet their fate
and though their leader was sore afraid
his mouth spoke only hate.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Bring twenty men to slay these dogs
twenty for sure will do,
for man for man we are as strong
as these Savage few!Ã¢â‚¬Â
The twenty men each drew their blades
and charged to prove their worth,
and twenty singing Savage greats
were ready for the hurt.
They met in battle on the field
shouts of challenge made
And Bulvyf's weapon ran steel on steel
the first blood wet his blade.
The warrior had been full run through
And with a Savage yell
Bulvyf's Savages fought on
and twenty Sarlians fell.
Not one of the Savage few
had felt a Sarlian blade
And the Sarlian host did shake
at the challenge made.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“I Bulvyf am the Savage King
from a land so far and cold,
we fight and make our Savage ways
and raise our children bold.
None will walk across this land,
this place we now call home,
that dare to trample o'er the weak
for sake of wanted gold
So come on then, come and fight
we'll take you one and all,
and know this, that if you charge,
all of you will fall!Ã¢â‚¬Â
The leader of the Sarlian host
in anger did he cry
The charge was ordered, the host did ride
these Savages would die!
And so the Savage warriors stood
weapons in their hands,
their twenty looking just as great
as a pebble on the sand.
But on they sang their Savage songs
waiting for the charge
and as the twenty waited still
they seemed to grow more large
Those of Nod watched Savage few
admiration one and all
and as the Sarlian host attacked
no Savage did he fall
The Sarlian host did ring the few
and brought their warriors in
But the Savages, they struck out
before the Sarlians could begin!
Soldiers fell before the might
of the few of Savage Horde
and twenty Savage warriors fought
with hammer, axe and sword!
Though numerous were the Sarlian soldiers
the Savages were strong
The Savage song grew louder still
with each felled within the throng
But the Savage skill, 'twas not enough
even for the Horde
and the first among the Savage kin
fell to a Sarlian sword.
Bulyf pulled his clansman back
and with a mighty heave
the axe he carried on his back
did the enemy cleave
But another fell by arrow shaft,
another still by spear
But on the seventeen Savages fought
nothing did they fear.
Horses screamed and soldiers wailed
for 'twas a bloody fight
But on both sides, both host and few
fought on with all their might.
The Sarlians fell unto the earth
but so did Savage few
and after many minutes passed
there were only two
Bulvyf and his standard bearer
stood back to back with pride
and Bulvy called out, Ã¢â‚¬Å“If I die,
It will have been with pride,
Ã¢â‚¬Å“For Sarlian soldiers lay around
cast off by Savage blade,
and though my men have all gone on,
a message I have made!
The Sarlian dead are piled high,
their wounds are fierce and deep,
and never will their living soldiers rest,
for we will haunt their sleep!
And when ever the horn does sound
they'll feel a terrible fright,
for Sarlian men will continue to fall
as long as I can fight!Ã¢â‚¬Â
cont. in comments
9 years agoexniner
I have to see this...
In wayfarerÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s worlds out west was once a man,
A man I come not to bury, but to praise.
His name was Geoffrey Lebowski called, yet
Not called, excepting by his kin.
That which we call a knave by any other name
Might bowl just as sweet. Lebowski, then,
Did call himself Ã¢â‚¬Ëœthe KnaveÃ¢â‚¬â„¢, a name that I,
Your humble chorus, would not self-apply
In homelands mine; but, then, this Knave was one
From whom sense was a burden to extract,
And of the arid vale in which he dwelt,
Also dislike in sensibility;
Mayhap the very search for sense reveals
The reason that it striketh me as most
IntÃ¢â‚¬â„¢resting, yea, inspiring me to odes.
(In couplets first, and then a sonnet brave
As prologue to the tale of this the Knave.
Behold him, then, a-tumbling softly down
To pledge his love immortal to the ground.)
We stray now from fair Albion and from France
And see no Queen of bawdy songs and cheers
And in an angel's city take our chance
For stupefying tales to take our ears.
To war on Arab kings acoast we go,
Needing a man of times, though hero not;
Hear me call him not hero; whatÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s in a hero?
Sometimes thereÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s a man, your prologueÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s thought.
The Knave, though scarcely man of honourÃ¢â‚¬â„¢d grace,
Nor hero Olympian, nor yet employÃ¢â‚¬â„¢d,
Was nonetheless for all his time and place,
The man befits the circle heÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s enjoyÃ¢â‚¬â„¢d.
A man of lazy ways, of epic sloth;
But, losing train of thought, IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ve spake enough!
[THE KNAVE's house. Enter THE KNAVE, carrying parcels, and two THUGS. They fight]
Whither the money, Lebowski? Faith, we are servants of Bonnie; promised by the lady good that thou in turn were good forÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t.
Bound in honour, we must have our bond; cursed be our tribe if we forgive thee.
Let us soak him in the commode, so as to turn his head.
Aye, and see what vapourises; then he will see what is foul.
[They insert his head into the commode]
What dreadful noise of waters in thine ears! Thou hast cooled thine head; think now upon drier matters.
Speak now on ducats else again weÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ll thee duckest; whither the money, Lebowski?
Faith, it awaits down there someplace; prithee let me glimpse again.
What, thou rash egg! Thus will we drown thine exclamations.
[They again insert his head into the commode]
Trifle not with the fury of two desperate men. Long has thy wife sealed a bond with Jaques Treehorn; as blood is to blood, surely thou owest to Jaques Treehorn in recompense.
Rise, and speak wisely, manÃ¢â‚¬'but hark;
I see thy rug, as woven iÃ¢â‚¬â„¢the Orient,
A treasure from abroad. I like it not.
IÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ll stain it thus; ever thus to deadbeats.
[He stains the rug]
Sir, prithee nay!
Now thou seest what happens, Lebowski, when the agreements of honourable business stand compromised. If thou wouldst treat money as water, flowing as the gentle rain from heaven, why, then thou knowest water begets water; it will be a watery grave your rug, drowned in the weeping brook. Pray remember, Lebowski.
Thou errÃ¢â‚¬â„¢st; no man calls me Lebowski. Yet thou art man; neither spirit damned nor wandering shadow, thou art solid flesh, man of woman born. Hear rightly, man!Ã¢â‚¬'for thou hast got the wrong man. I am the Knave, man; Knave in nature as in name.
Thy name is Lebowski. Thy wife is Bonnie.
Zounds, man. Look at these unworthiest hands; no gaudy gold profanes my little hand. I have no honour to contain the ring. I am a bachelor in a wilderness. Behold this place; are these the towers where one may glimpse Geoffrey, the married man? Is this a court where mistresses of common sense are hid? Not for me to hang my bugle in an invisible baldric, sir; I am loath to take a wife, or she to take me until men be made of some other mettle than earth. Hark, the seat of my commode be arisen!
Search his satchel! His words are a fantastical banquet to work confusion upon his enemies. There sits eight pounds of proof within; surely he hides his treasure on his person.
Villainy! Why this confounded orb, such as men use to play at ninepins; what devilry, these holes in holy trinity?
Obviously thou art not a golfer.
Then thou art a man to carry ball in his sack? Thou varlet, a plague upon your house; I shall return thy orb to earth.
[He drops the ball]
Thy floor cracks in haste, sir; thou art not a man of ample foundation. Woo?
Speak, friend; I am but of droplets.
Was this not a man of moneys and repute? Did not Treehorn speak of chalcedony halls, and three chests of gold, as was hard food for Midas? What thinkÃ¢â‚¬â„¢st thou?
O undistinguishÃ¢â‚¬â„¢d man! We are deceived; this man has put not money in his purse.
Weep not for grief of my own sustaining, sir. At least I am house-broken, none to break the houses of others.
If dog you are, in time youÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ll have your day;
Waste time, but Jaques Treehorn will you pay.
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