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Autor Thema: The Minstrel Contest  (Gelesen 2932 mal)


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The Minstrel Contest
« am: 10. Sep 2017, 22:30 »

A common custom in classical times, when music and lyrics used to render food and wine finer and better. And even more in Middle Age, where official contests between minstrels were a rare occasion of culture and jubilation, despite harshness and much toil. The logic of this thread is thus plain to fathom: a poet challenges another of his kind. In amicable manners and conduct, lyrics and knowledge are to be exchanged in grand style.

Thou shalt sing and rhymes share,
No odious mood nor deceptive snare,
The ways of Arda, its heart, core and lore,
I sense in honest will, of the Minstrel Contest thou longest to know more.

« Letzte Änderung: 10. Sep 2017, 22:46 von Walküre »


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #1 am: 11. Sep 2017, 22:41 »
The end of the world draws ever closer,
And every land will be reborn,
The forces of Arda now toil and muster,
The perished and fallen will mourn.

The world is changing, and let this be the hour,
When a beacon of light high on his tower,
Lead Middle-Earth to a new dawn.
But not for men who are weak and frail,
The new order to come will surely prevail,
Shall all men bend to the will of Sauron?

But the old and wise has unmatched might,
Great legions march for Saruman the White!
Join our ranks or perish with the old land,
Or rise with us and live under the white hand.
No power of this Earth, man, dwarf, or elf,
Will contend with the will of the Archwizard himself.

And once the worthy are rescued from the weak,
Sauron and Saruman will fight over the masterless and meek.
But only when our leader wears The Ring,
Will Saruon be banished, by the true High King.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #2 am: 11. Sep 2017, 22:52 »
The challenge I shall accept, Festus.

The grimmest sight we are now to behold, as ashes and menacing smoke from the pits of Isengard emerge,
For the arts of the Istar industry now serve, and the wheel of machinery unceasingly by fell hands is made go round,
And that smoke is smoke of green and amicable creatures perishing in the merciless void of those furnaces, vomiting iron and bolts and blades,
The wizard gazes at the horizon with secure will, knowing the arising magnitude of such a sudden coming in the exchequer of Middle-earth.

Skies benevolent on the Golden Wood remain, being covered and secretly veiled by of the past a very obscure mystery,
A force within those green ways dwells and for long time thither has resided,
Common peasants of the cold heath dread that place and phantoms to hide beneath trees are believed,
The wisest the plain truth know, that a sorceress of grand prowess the door for malice shall keep shut, and her ladyship seems to halt the flow of time across her domain, which is sound shelter in disenchanted and grey days.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #3 am: 12. Sep 2017, 02:30 »
The ancient tongues have told, of an ancient evil dark and cold,
That when dragons and goblins wage war, will rebirth;
Sauron the Cruel, ancient shadow resurrected,
Will seek to conquer the weakened Middle-Earth.

His heralds are the screams of the weak and frail,
Of lords and kings, in their defiance, felled down;
The hearts and wills of the free people will fail,
Before the Dark Lord and his blackened crown.

Do you not see it, faithless fools?
Can you not see it with your own eyes?
The world will end to ghosts and ghouls,
But a new order will rise.
On deaf ears will fall your cries,
Until every river dries,
And every green thing dies.

Here and now you hide, believing yourself safe and sound,
While I ceaselessly toil and work this once innocent ground.
The forests will fall if it means I reign,
Not as Wizard or Warmonger, but as sovereign King.
Once, I alone, possess The Ring.

What time do you believe there is left to cherish?
Join with us now, or else you shall perish.
Raise the banner of the White Hand,
Let its glory rise in every land.
The hand that will take away the grief of the New World,
The hand that now harnesses the fires of the Underworld,
The hand that will keep those who join my side,
And will crush those who, my will, defied.

My legion marches, the wilds are swept away.
With a message for the Elven Lady;
If you join me not, The Future King,
For war, I will be ready.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #4 am: 12. Sep 2017, 12:10 »
Vain words and conceited pride from the White Wizard's side,
You shall not reign on the ways of a world older than this mortal figure of yours and us you are not to behold sigh,
The spirit of woods grows and time resists with undaunted will,
The sheer dominion and brutal rule we have since our dawn rejected, and to relentless malaise never we shall bow or kneel.

The Istar should know better, but wisdom he renounced and appalling was the moment in which of his treason the Free People were informed,
The imperative mission you have forsworn, wizard, to shield mankind from the awakening shadows appearing where Sun rises and its path commences,
Very little could one have suspected, that of the Evil the tentacles had trapped a one-time noble mind, skilled in crafting and in the arcane much interested,
Ill-boding the time when the Seeing Stone to your hands was entrusted, and thus your eyes were granted far sight and the power of knowledge, if not for the other fell intelligence that your acquaintance yearned to make, to sway the good proposition and for a serviceable ally to seek.

An ally? Do you really nourish the hope of allegiance, White Hand?
You ought to know that the Eye allies seldom has known, but often servants of the least type, bent by his order and to servitude much used, for he the sharing of might does not desire,
And, were you to scheme, to him unbeknownst, and to deceive who of deception is the master, you shall have your plans be rendered naught, for in equal manner the Dark Lord schemes too and perhaps the hour shall be late, when your being puppet and mere decoy you will have ultimately realised,
That hour shall be late, once the victim of treacherous design understands that as simple pawn he's been utilised.

The Elven Queen does have a last task to fulfil before the end of the age,
Before mortal memory of her presence on earth is to vanish,
Prior to the somber fate, when the Three silent and still are to become,
She shall not relinquish the duty to safeguard and of the grand war to be part, for only concerted action and unity of intent the menace will fend off for the good, of whom mayhem and discord among his enemies much cherishes.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #5 am: 13. Sep 2017, 02:02 »
Our fuel is not enough, so my captains call to me,
As I did with Fangorn,
I will rip down every tree.
And so I will in Lorien,
Harvest every fuel I see.
May your kin sit idly and scorn,
As their wood now belongs to me,
In your groves the labor will begin,
It is Saruman's decree!

You do not understand it yet,
But patient I am indeed,
Before your choice's your last regret,
Mount your stag and steed.
Unlike myself, Sauron has no heart,
And absent is his soul,
Every mortal he will rip apart,
Destruction is his goal.

And here you sit, feeling safe and content,
Unaware of the opportunity that is present.
Be very aware, My Queen,
I am the wizard, and your plans are seen.
On me, the future of the world depends,
And I must not let you and your friends,
Destroy my coveted ring;
If we lose it, we lose everything.

We lose the chance of a world that we can rebuild together,
From the ruinous ashes of the dead, will spring trees that stand forever;
And once more from hideous beasts will beauty come to life,
The White Hand will give hope and plenty after the days of strife,
And to once more bear wheat from the scythe.

Already, the clouds come for you, black and dreary,
The King of Rohan ebbs, weak and weary;
The Steward of Gondor is mad with grief,
While my servants chip every quarry.

Join not, and keep your cowardly kin withdrawn,
My Uruk-Hai march for Helm's Deep—for men, there is no dawn.
Already, I've the secret weapon to extinguish their hornburg with fire.
If it means that I will rule, with the Master Ring,
If it means I can finally reshape everything,
I will neither tarry, ever toiling, and never will I tire.

Your chances diminish, your idleness betrays you, Peace-lover!
One ill turn deserves another.
It is over.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #6 am: 13. Sep 2017, 15:51 »
Tragic the moment and cursed the fate, in which the grandest of the wizards elected folly and wisdom disowned,
Forlorn is the proposition which you unceasingly yearn, to beautify Arda and the guise of the West to make the decaying world resemble,
None may and never it might befall, that one enjoying the service of marred minions the bliss beyond the sundering seas will ever mirror,
These were the disgraceful words of whom once a fair visage would boast, and elegant composure and knowledge and robes,
He sought to mend the flaws which we bequeathed from the elder eras, mournful and sad, and to the wailing Elda a prospect of renewed might he was to offer,
Such a figure was cloaked in mystery and to ancient manners he seemed much acquainted, while admiration he started harvesting from the fields of buoyant naivety,
But the wisest of the immortal kind knew well that to him no faith was to be entrusted, for deception we have learnt through the hardest strife and a greater foe for long we had battled, being thus able to recognise the lie and in the thread of phoney illusions to avoid being chained,
The cunning adviser was nothing more than the imposter we have all heard of, and in his footsteps you dared state and proclaim, that a newer world is possible to achieve, flawless and to the command of industry subdued,
This is no merry scenario nor dream, White Wizard, as the flames of malignant arts only burn and asunder tear, along with the inexorable doom which any of your deeds is to undergo, because the fell hand mighty and splendid towers, castles and palaces could never raise, should you try to reach the mastery of the Lords who waves governed and a vast empire on the shores of the continent managed to establish,
To them belongs the Dark Tower you are much fond of, being it your residence and own domain, in which years you have spent, making enquiries on lost lore and secrets trying to uncover.

That past has gone for good, fallen Istar, foolish the mind that such a desire fuels, and the bitter savour of defeat you are to taste, but complete demise for you it is to be, because the Evil is given no second chance to redeem and what awaits you are just woes, to you and to whom your design aids.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #7 am: 15. Sep 2017, 20:17 »
How do the mighty fall under the will of the weak,
And the powerful become powerless before the meek?
Though I toil, and fight, and clash,
The worth of my might is now soot and ash.

An ancient force of the woods,
Has torn my place to many a shred,
And now foreigners pillage my goods,
And scavenge among my minions, dead.

The hearts of men are stronger than I believed,
Even after the millions dead for whom they grieved;
I've burned and purged every hill and steppe,
But alas, I could not conquer Helm's Deep.

My dreams lie in ruins and despair,
I now stand alone in my tower,
Watching the passing of each hour,
A once mighty kingdom has vanished to thin air.

I would have a victory of my own,
If I had only ever found The Ring,
I could have defeated Sauron, and reigned as King,
And ruled a golden era of wisdom on my throne.

I vow to rise from this day of defeat,
For though each tree is split;
Until The Ring lies at my feet,
I will never quit.

Such envy I have for those who've persevered,
What power do they have that I have not?
They will continue to struggle to be revered,
While my kingdom's left in rubble and rot.

I should have done something differently,
If only I had The Ring,
If only I had that precious thing,
The world would serve me gladly.

My hopes and dreams are vanquished,
Alone, I'm in my lair,
I fear this day will languish,
As the legacy of despair.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #8 am: 16. Sep 2017, 00:29 »
Vainglorious and conceited unto the end, I may see you have learnt naught from defeat and utter demise, and you still gaze at the horizon of your lost dreams and wishes, now unattainable, forbidden and remote,
Men did not falter in front of the tough test, and the will of their fallen foe they have reduced to grave despair,
They stood up to you, gallant and proud, and the prowess of your wicked hexes they have made vanish,
Your ghoulish creations and brood shelter amidst retreat they have tried to find, yet only the wrath of roots and branches they eventually met, due to the wizard's crimes and faults against the forest's soul.

You are now caged inside your tower, Saruman, as a guarded dwelling into a gaol have been turned, and it is your gaol where naught but solitude and shame await you,
I foretell that of other troubles you might be new cause and mastermind,
May you thus these words of caution hearken,
That ultimate departure you are doomed to face, should guilty conscience not repent, and if redemption is not to be, of your precious appearance of matter and flesh you shall be deprived, and this is dreadful eventuality for any of the angelic kind, for across unknown seas and lands you are to voyage, but as powerless ghost, impious and cursed.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #9 am: 27. Sep 2017, 23:59 »
*   *   *

Ah yes! Free at last, free at last! Free as a sailboat, and strong my mast!
My escape from the dirty dwarves,
And the gnarled goblins,
And the obscene orcs,
And the wailing wraith,
Have all made me wary,
But it has all been legendary!

How so may I now celebrate and revel,
In victories of proud and ancient level,
Through fields and wilds I fly, running,
No creature of the future will match my cunning!
The books of men will record me, Huzzah! Ha ha!
As Festus, the Red Wizard, the luckiest adventurer of Arda.

Into Lorien I go,
For I tire of desert and snow,
I need to keep my head low.
Behold! The Red Wizard transforms!
To hide in the wilds and wood,
Out of sight for good.
Now my fur will warm my toes,
And for pleasure and rest, I follow my nose.
The Fox trots through shade and shadow,
Into the beautiful lands of forest and meadow.
My ears swivel atop my head alert,
My nose wiggling for dinner and dessert.

What is this? Looks like a fortress,
But also a tree from trunk to buttress.
Familiar, yes and no.
It's like I have seen before, just not in this place though.
And of course, it's crawling with elves!
These ones all look wary.
What are they expecting that's so scary?
No matter. My opportunity arises to reward myself for my troubles,
From the mountains to the valleys to even the wastelands of Mordor,
I shall not wait a moment longer.
The temptation is so great...

… Through shadow and shade, I make my way inside,
These big tall slender pointy-eared doofuses couldn't find me, and I didn't even hide!
Did they not notice my big, beautiful, red coat,
And my bushy tail?
Maybe through day and night they've stood awake without rest,
The patrol does look somber and tired, so no wonder their ears and eyes fail.
What enemy are they awaiting?
I know not, and care not... my prize... it is waiting.

Sneaky I slink and skulk down steps and around every corner,
Silent are my paws down every corridor.
To forget my horrors upon facing The Ghostly King,
I vow to treat myself to a feast, a little bit of everything!
And zounds! What before my eyes, should appear?
There is more food and drink than I could ever imagine in here.
Uncountable barrels of wine,
On these fruits, salads, cheeses and poultry I now dine.
This is so unreal! Why do they have so much down here?
I'm sure they won't mind, and won't even notice,
What will be missing, so I need not fear.

Reckless abandon! Everything tastes so sweet,
So fresh and juicy is the chicken meat,
With bread rolls that crumble in my canine teeth,
What a glorious meal this will be.
The leg of a turkey, a bottle of wine,
And the cheese! Simply to die for.
These buffoons of elves could never catch me now,
But at least they're great at cooking some chow.

I seem to be getting quite full,
but it all tastes so good—I want more,
Never have I dined on such reserves before,
I can feel the wine warming my heart and soul.
I am staggering and stumbling, giggling in quiet bliss,
I've tried to reach that big roasted beast up there, but I leapt and I missed!
Banged my head upon a wooden cork,
I'm seeing stars, no! Birds! NO! STORKS!
Alas, I have fallen into a great red vat,
Like a big juicy orange, so round and fat,
from the delicacies I have devoured, this delightful hour.
Some spigots around me, I gnaw off with my teeth,
And now the vat fills with red juices, so fruity and sweet.
My head dizzy, my body weakens—Bathing in sweet wine!
So much to eat, so much to drink,
I'd hope this would never end, or so I might think...

… Something is wrong.
No. Wait. What was that sound?
Was it a song?
I look all around.
But I can barely see,
In trouble is me!
I must get out of this place,
before anyone sees my face.
But I'm so heavy. Heavy and drowsy.
I can see a shadow!
If I could just pick my paws up and flee,
You can't see me! Don't see me! Don't get me!
Why can't I move? I'm too round and swollen to flee.
Too drunken to flee.
My foxy disguise is all that can now save me...


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #10 am: 29. Sep 2017, 21:30 »
Lone I am in my advancing amidst those ways of green,
All rest, it seems,
All worry and in apprehension tomorrow await,
All appears quiet under the branches of Lórien, realm broad and vast,
Our shires ten long centuries from evil have been preserved,
Truth is near and next, soon to unfold and unveil what veiled still persists,
I may behold, subjects whom I dearly love,
I hearken to sounds of somber kind and horrible, aye, of thorns and spears, and blades and fell iron by wicked hands governed,
Of hordes and hell, thrown at us and with much contempt led,
Shadow is to pave its way unto these lands, inexorable the fate and fortune I had often foreseen, so that defenders may have the chance and towards them luck benevolent might be.

Foes are coming, beloved ways which ever-merry trodden I have,
Creatures that breathe, peril you face and much risk, at the eastern ends watered by the antique river,
Thither the ghoulish mass shall try to pass and breach, bending what grows strong and anything of flesh slaying, for the gruesome chasm of theirs they need nourish,
Chasm that breaks, devours and chews,
Chasm that speaks, foul decrees proclaims and to bandy words is used,
Gentle beasts, dwelling in safety is for you goal prime and foremost,
I beg, may the counsel be in mind borne,
Pure souls and their kin to the western limits hither should move,
Solace and peace there may be found, joy for the wanderer who long sound shelter has sought for,
But the East at the red fury of battle will gaze, and that malicious assailants will know utter defeat I pray.

Dark Lord, the Lady is not for turning and her principles to forswear,
I passed and the Grinding Ice withstood, which are deadly wastes and for any living they are dreadful prisons of cold and chill, and many of the blessed kind of the ancient Houses have fallen, alas, for none but the Angels who rule yonder that lifeless vastness unspoiled could journey through,
I was with Melian the Wise, Queen of ancient woods, now sunk in the sea, and fair and wise she was, beyond mortal comprehension, because no Elf-maiden she is, yet one of the People who the Powers of Arda worship and serve,
The somber tales of the Second Age I have outlived, going past your snares, deception and tricks, along with the Rings of Power, harbinger of ominous deeds, and many woes to whom their secrets does not understand.

The way is shut and so it is to remain,
Servant of Morgoth, for your reign of terror the bell shall soon toll, while the yoke of tyranny for the sake of liberty undone will be,
Wait, there is else which my eyes have seen, for one the golden domain has entered, uncanny his fashion and nebulous the thoughts, my thinking to him I shall send, which is profound voice that none hear may,
Stranger, lone voyager who hither hath come, which business dost thou have in my domain? Thy arrival I saw and beheld, and visions of thy doing in my mind dwell, for these are the woods I render ever-sunny and thee I perceive.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #11 am: 29. Sep 2017, 23:05 »
By the Ainur and the Valar, is it really she?
The Queen of the Elves has now found me.
That, or I have been much too greedy,
With what debauchery I have made of myself.
These voices are foreign to me, and are not my own;
But they're the words and accent of one of the Elven Throne.

There's no point in hiding now, I realize;
I've heard the stories of Galadriel's marvelous eyes.
She can see the future, the past, and everything in between,
And she invokes courage or madness in others who've witnessed what she's seen.
I cannot seem to get out of this vat of blood-red sauce,
My mind is afloat in a sea of drunken dreams,
My thoughts swaying as a mast in the storms of sin;
I can't change back! I can't change back!
If I could just regain my human form,
But I can't even remember the magic words.

Easy does it, one paw at a time. Crawling out of the vat. So heavy.
Now in plain view in this ransacked place—what a mess!
Who couldn't figure me out now? But I digress.

My Lady, I try to speak, but wavering yowling is all I can say,
And deep growls and whimpering,
Like the ramblings of a madman.
But it should be more than clear to thee,
Who is me?
A drunken glutton has no place in your realm, I fear,
And so I never imagined you of all elves could find me here;
Feasting and glutting on tainted goods that by feral paws are stolen,
Until I can barely move, so sick and swollen.
Ah, but it was such a delight to me,
Everything here was well ripened,
Seasoned with the passage of time,
And the heat of the open flame!
I could hardly help myself before such a boon as this,
It has all been so rich, and I couldn't resist.

So now, I lie before you at your mercy, My Lady;
For penance and repentance, I may as well be ready.
I could tell you my name, but I fear you already know,
How your magic wine has tempted me, and made my thoughts slow.
A fox I am, but also once was I at your service,
Along with The Five, who would come here to visit you,
Ancient ghosts clothed in ancient flesh, endowed with ancient knowledge.
Do you remember me?
Perhaps not clearly, as distance I was from them and you,
and exiled from their order through and through.
So now I merely wander for the seeking of pleasure,
If only I had the human tongue to speak to you of my most recent venture.

Such pain and soreness throughout my body.
My red coat is ruined, stained and soggy.
This infernal evil in my lonely heart languishes,
And my hope and sense of right and wrong vanquishes.
If I were alone still, who knew how much I would have done,
Drinking until I drown in drunkenness, pillaging every last crumb just for fun.
The ache of my head and belly are beyond measure,
Oh, the sacrifices a lost soul makes in the pursuit of pleasure.
But you, Witch-Queen, have foreseen me, and now here I am.
A swollen fox laying before you in the filth of my damning sins,
While in a stupor of no return.
Fit to burst, for better or worse.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #12 am: 1. Okt 2017, 23:35 »
Offender or spy he is not, certain I am of it, and ill an encounter would not bode, if I am to greet the traveller who so far has come, hither in the lands of Lórien that malaise do not know or see,
I need answers and responses, his mind being a maze intricate and thick, so that to watch closer I am compelled, by necessity and genuine curiosity,
Far the route of his wandering must have been and further he may have pushed his limits,
Stranger, I think I would fain do speaking words of wit and wisdom with you, to share and dig into the meanders of depth you are trying to keep hidden, for seclusion you have embraced with arms open and well wide, as life of yours sad and somber.

You have indeed much trouble undergone, I may infer in certainty and stoutly I often rest with first impressions of guests that I welcome inside,
Storms torment and haunt your dreams, thoughts and visions, for very little can one do to erase a past that pain causes and spreads, and even if joy does live and exist, all is mingled together and the most diverse tone of hues is to be in the end the result, as memories are guided by never-ceasing opposing winds, being the former a hurricane of passion, toil, regret and profound grief, while the latter the fashion of calm breezes assumes, gentle and kind, of jubilant memoirs and love that had been,
Immune to the burdens of time the guest does not seem,
Immune to the thread of fate neither, in the same measure and terms in which we are all bound to destiny, order and to the air of the world that loose roams.

Lone voyager of old, naught thou hast to wail or weep for,
Art thou not safe and well, now that the borders of the wood entered thou hast?
Wait, do not flee, no anger I bear,
Hunger was great for thee and food any being breathing needeth,
If here, among the rich banquets of these shires, relief thou hast found, content we need be of this,
In addition, I would entrust these words to thee, which none shall hear, I may assure,
Let us head to the outskirts of the Tree-capital, for we have to parlay in peace and quiet context,
Words I have to tell, yet not via means unknown to the ear,
To my very voice thou shalt hearken,
And into my eyes thou shalt gaze, which are the mirror of the many long years of this world that hitherto have passed.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #13 am: 2. Okt 2017, 03:39 »
Carry me, My Lady.
I know that you are friend,
My mind is hazy,
So on your balance I must depend.
These times are crazy.

Your pearly grasp comforts me,
As you hold me close through this Great Tree;
Faintly can I see,
Your adoring eyes cast upon wretched me.

Hiccups and cramps!
The Lady carries the Tramp,
The world around me spins and warps,
As I have greedily eaten, and of the imported Mirkwood brew, did I drink deeply.
So deeply.
… It felt so good... deeper and deeper...
And deeper down, did I fall into sleep,
Until you came.
Ah, come tomorrow morning amid grave illness,
I should feel my due shame.

Answers to reveal, have I,
Because in lieu of the strength of secrecy, I now harbor a mind like an open book,
Eager to read my mind you most certainly are,
And what need I fear now, that I tried to hide from you to begin with?
I mean here you are, in the presence of I, Festus, the Red,
When I am at my weakest, having freshly succumbed to temptation,
And yet in your unyielding, unconditional love and mercy,
You cast me out not, but instead carry me.

I can hear the whispers of my memories drifting and swaying in the dizzying heights of my head,
Of Elrond's magicians exposing my dual nature, when my powers over fire were made clear.
And the haunting shriek of a wicked ghost, I desperately seek to bury,
An unholy ruler of the Black Lands,
He has taken a liking to me—an uncanny interest in my being.
Ever since I came to face him, when I fought the orc,
His piercing wail will not be silent.
Whisperings of a rich and ancient language languishes no matter which land I travel by,
My Lady, I would beg you to take me back to your pantry for even more food and wine,
If I only had my human lips to speak with,
Or if I had any more room in my stomach to receive.

The desire to run amok, as a wild fox does,
Has brought me suffering and pain, but yet pleasure despite all of my hardships.
It encourages me, this profane voice,
Intensifying my addiction to mead and spirits of every kind.
And in his realm, he encouraged me also,
Wishing to see the full extent of my powers,
Wanting to see for himself, how many people I could burn.
Our clash at the top of the tower was a losing battle,
He was toying with me! Merely wishing to see what I could do.
And feigned his death, to taunt me, before fleeing the scene of battle.
His war cry was the echoing screams of thousands dead,
Of fallen generations whose souls he devoured,
Like ripe fruit from a tree.

I can feel him still... Oh, do I seek the sweet release of his words.
He has made me ever thirstier, ever hungrier than ever have I been before.
Inordinate my desire, to consume more than I require,
Devouring and ingesting, like a bottomless pit leading into an empty void.
A voracious appetite driven by the madness, brought by my hopeless battle,
Against the good and evil parts of my dual nature.

Ever do I desire to drift, deeper into my dizzying sleep,
To drink deeply and feel my strength wean.
To sink deeper, and deeper, and deeper down,
Into a drunken trance.
But Mother of Elves, you came and rescued me from what could have been my own destruction,
Speak to me now, while I am yet awake,
Before my mind fades out completely because of my sinful indulgence,
Make your purposes known to me, just as I have made mine known to thee.
For much love do I have for you, and much trust indeed,
A swollen fox for your arms to hold,
In the Realm of Gold.


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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #14 am: 3. Okt 2017, 16:41 »
The guest is an amicable one and of comfort he is in dire need,
It is perhaps better to soften the tone and speak kinder words,
The old tongue I was much used to in my time in Kôr and Valimar the Majestic,
I shall thus opt for the parlance of modern days, which is common to every ear and mind in this grey world,
The traveller will surely appreciate the spirit of debate, which ought to be formal, and warm and in the manner of courtesy,
His soul wails, I hear something hidden and concealed,
I must ease toil and the suffering one shelter,
Where? Whither should the outcast head? If not within the shires of the Lady of Lórien, in which naught wicked or somber may stay, I assure, and stormy waves by confidence and love shall be placated, for either radiant sun or quiet moon here reign and dominate.

Hearken to me and my voice follow,
We are now to journey through the dwellings of my kind,
Which are evidences of grandness and ever-vivid sign,
Along the houses of Wood-elves, if lead you I may,
You have come in uncanny fashion today,
And at the hour unfortunate and grave,
Vigilance you must pardon, and much secrecy all over the place,
But we have to secure this joyful wood of gold,
Tenure and regency of the forest I have, that time does not mould,
Nay, the invader shall not pass, and who on the other shore eerie ruins and spoils decided to infest, never my ladyship will he contest!

Gentle pilgrim of other lands, I beg you not to despair,
In no way am I belligerent or cruel, yet a vicious intelligence wages war from his lair,
Wraiths, ghosts and ghouls he commands, and those who trusted him he made fool,
Thus, grand preparations for battle were in my plans and I do not intend to give up my own rule,
Home rule and centuries of peace, although the outer world is in pain and aches,
The bell is to toll for the Evil, at last, and its sound sleeping consciences shall wake,
All are to be summoned and have their passion rekindled,
In an era of shadows in which agony with joy often mingled,
Last sanctuaries of light still remain, when war-lords and kings their might in the battlefield will throw, but even in these rare shrines one must earn the luxury of serenity,
Via the means of clash and strife, of course, as for liberty we fight and withstand the brunt of battle to retain humanity.

You come in moments of suspense and apprehensive mood, guest,
May you feel darkness approaching, while still and loyal we rest?
May you see blades and bows of which mastery we boast?
May you find sound consolation within the ramparts of my kingdom of merriment, revered and worshipped the most?
May you fathom the secret I keep, voyager, which is the source of my enchanted shield?
It is safety, life and nourishment for this ever-lit field,
Time naught corrodes here, in akin fashion of what to mortals beyond the sundering seas is forbidden,
To defend the decent and pious I was in fact bidden,
But you, in this broad and ultimate conflict that the chapter is to close, have entered my borders in trust and the clothes of a fox you have worn,
What is it that you are seeking for? Which is your role in the tale? Why was the bitterness of prison and mournful gaol on you inflicted? Curiosity has stirred in me and the longing to know in my heart was born.