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Autor Thema: The Minstrel Contest  (Gelesen 1223 mal)

Walküre

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

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.

Zitat
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 »

Isaac632

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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.

Walküre

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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.

Isaac632

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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.

Walküre

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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.

Isaac632

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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.

Walküre

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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.

Isaac632

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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.

Walküre

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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.

Isaac632

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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...

Walküre

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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.

Isaac632

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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.

Walküre

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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.

Isaac632

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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.

Walküre

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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.

Isaac632

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #15 am: 6. Okt 2017, 22:49 »
Forsooth, I couldst not escape He who Pursues Me,
Even in this woodland realm, this paradise of peace?
His shriek, I still remember vividly, ever since facing him on the tower
Of Cirith Ungol.
I had been sent there, The Plague of Blood, to end,
But in exchange for the ruin of Rohan,
A dread ghost has brought ruin to my mind.
Even now, I hear him whispering to me.

“Escape!” says he,
“Run from the clutches of she who holds you,
Away from the cellars where you were dining in peace.”
“Indulge yourself,” says he,
“Eat, drink, and be merry of heart, for tomorrow never comes!”
So tempting these whispers of a rich, rolling, crackling thunderstorm of a language,
I would most certainly dare to squirm out of your arms, Lady Galadriel,
If I could stop these hiccups that sap my breath,
And regain the strength of my paws!
For I fear the anguish of my mind more than the clashing of blades,
And my night terrors have made me lose more sleep than the horns and drums of war.

I am so full, and so dizzy,
I have come here to flee from this dark voice who is haunting me,
Driving me to gluttony and drunkenness,
The likes of which have been more intense than I've ever struggled with before.
Grievously ill, do I feel,
So many aches throughout my body, from traveling to this far-flung place,
For the purpose of trying to drink the voice away.

And yet in my agony, I feel hungrier and thirstier still,
Hellbent on helping myself to even more of the rations you have locked away,
Down in the cisterns of your fortress, My Lady,
So desperately have I come here seeking excess,
And so I took this form hoping that no-one would detect me as I sneaked in,
And even if you did find me, I hoped you would regard me,
As a little lost forest animal who stumbled in by accident,
To merely carry me outside of the gates, so that I could crawl back in again
And seek even more food and drink

The whispers, they won't go away, My Lady!
I wriggle and writhe weakly in your arms, whimpering loudly, for they are getting louder,
“Go and feast! Go and feast!” He whispers,
It won't stop for anything, no matter where I run to.
Where are you carrying me, My Lady?
My stomach is starting to curdle with nausea,
How now, do I still hunger?
My head is starting to pound with migraine,
How now, do I still thirst?
Please, Galadriel, take me back to your basement,
I must seek another banquet!

Walküre

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #16 am: 7. Okt 2017, 18:55 »
No fell eye may spot you here, fiery fox,
Hither you have come, in the domain of the Lady and the Lord,
Rulers of might and wisdom exceeding the imagination of mortals and of whom to living under the threat of death is used,
Those malicious voices resounding in your weary mind are naught else but phantoms of your past, tormenting you even within the borders of my golden shires,
For I can and may many things, if I am to endeavour to counter approaching hosts and unwanted guests, but the cure of that kind of malaise has never been simple or very viable to perform, in that it is the very soul and spirit of each of us, my friendly beast.

Who could boast perfect science and knowledge about the immense mazes and meanders of one's mind and thoughts?
Any thinking being, free and loose, with the primeval gift and imperishable force of the Flame has been endowed, by whom beyond time, space and matter dwells,
Be it the mortal Man who suffers his tough fate of demise, or the proud Elf who to persist until Arda does as well is destined, or even the mighty Vala, ultimate keeper of lore and rule,
All sentient life is able to form thinking and thoughts, streams of memories, seas of perceptions and oceans of emotions,
And yours are wounds and scars of the soul, your inner essence, which are hard deed to heal and mend.

Don't despair, I am leading you to the western ends of my land,
There you shall be fine and such a spectacle you are to behold!
One which hope always rekindles, in times of grim mood and somber impressions,
Traces of antique mystery and love, ever-pure and never stained,
Proofs that light, even at the darkest hour of terror, us has not forsaken.

Contain the thirst,
Bind the hunger,
Shut the door to weak and feeble will,
You are in my arms and you I hold firm,
Close your eyes and let yourself be guided by the harmonius breeze of this quiet night without flaws, unto the realm of dreams, fathomless vastness.

Isaac632

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #17 am: 9. Okt 2017, 05:26 »
The strength of my eyes have failed me completely.
I have succumbed to the spinning and weakness,
Everything goes black and quiet, like a blanket of the night sky.
My last moments awake—it is a shame I may never remember this night.

There is a faint murmur like a heart. The heart, beating as the drum of mortality.
Doomed to die, am I, unlike those who continue to tutor me.
No... that's not how I want to be remembered. Not while my lusts and sin cling to my tainted soul.
So desperately do I want to be one with divinity,
I would forsake the world, that even if I never see the day that I live in the undying lands,
That my remains would be buried there, where the wine flows like water,
Where peace bubbles from every stream and happiness eternally grows like flowers there.
I can see it! Has the day come, to vanquish the horrible night?
Have the pure and the righteous come to redeem me of my shortcomings,
To wipe the tears from my eyes and take me into their stead?
The light... I am so close... But why can't I reach it?

… It can't be... I can still hear my heart.
It is so loud, and slow. Irregular.
I must have drank too much. I may never wake up from this.
Surely, I must have destroyed myself in this final feast.
The heavens! I may never reach them, now that I die.
All hope is lost to eternal despair... This could be it.
That was the glimpse of the light... to remind myself of the joys I've had in this short and eventful existence.
No... the darkness closes in on me...
I don't want to go...



“Get up, wizard.”
A new voice has followed me. Who is this?
“You are not dead yet.”
I see a new light. Not of the sun of the Undying Lands, but a faint glow like a torch.
Three torches. Now seven. Now nine.
… And then, I beheld one grand flame descending from the endless void,
The other flames danced and encircled this one, in worship and reverence.
It approaches me, and I am paralyzed before it.
I cannot move, I cannot breathe. Time has stopped.

The new voice is even more dreadful than the one that haunted me before.
I can feel a grand and terrible presence binding me in place,
Fixating my eyes upon these orbs of light, that dance around and burn.
The Grand Flame speaks, with a voice even deeper and more powerful than that which came before,

“Listen. Hear me, and obey.
The Lady of Gifts has abandoned you in the mountains,
She is above receiving you,
Because you have made yourself gravely ill,
And you have defiled her house with the sin of excess.”

The Grand Flame rises... the others are starting to organize.
There's a most peculiar pattern in the sky,
As the smaller torches begin to burn in formation.

“Rejected. Cast out. Your purpose is forsaken by The Five.
But no more.
Do as I say, and regain your place.
Head south, to Shaman's Rock,
Where My Children have strayed.
The stars on this day will guide you,
While the sun and moon cross paths.”

The Grand Flame and the other torches are rising... higher, and higher... brighter, and brighter...

“Go and seek your pride, Fox.
Before you face The Man of Skill again,
You must enter Shaman's Rock,
Where the treasure of nature is hidden.
Return it to your hand where it now rightfully belongs,
And I will make you the instrument of my cleansing flames.”

The torches are so bright in the sky now... I cannot peer at the brilliance of this marvelous sight!
And the voice booms one last time.

“There, you will be enlightened,
Once you have skulked in the darkness,
But soon you will be a pillar of flame,
To burn away the sins of mortal kind,
And illuminate the glory that is your birthright.
It is your destiny, Red Wizard,
For I have said so.
You have six hours.
Go, and claim your true powers,
Courtesy of me, The Lord of Gifts.”



The day has vanquished the horrible night. My hands... I can see my hands, now.
I am whole again. My fleshly human form.
I see that I have been put to bed—not in straw or cushion though.
It is a hard bed of rock, barely large enough for me. Dwarven make.
It must have been chiseled here long ago, and now are amid ruins.

My head hurts so much! I feel like a cave troll bashed my skull in.
There is vomit everywhere on the side of this stone of rest.
My robes and staff have been ruined not.
The sky is aglow with brilliance.
The sun and moon are clashing against one-another in the sky.
Durin's Day?
I can see the stars as clear as crystals in the sky.
Yes, yes! Everything is exact! The torches are up there!
I must observe these stars and leave immediately for Shaman's Rock.

And what to my surprise should there be,
Than what looks like a bundle of torn leaves beside me.
No... they aren't torn. They are wrapped neatly with the weaving skill of a spider.
There's a glass button keeping the leaves together.
And a set of pastries inside.
I do not know what good this meager pick-me-up will do,
But it may ease this awful sourness in my stomach.

I must away!
This Lord of Gifts compels me...
I know not what he speaks for,
But perhaps my answers will be there in that deserted peak.
The Goblins that live in these Misty Mountains may be masterless,
But I must take care lest they spot me on my way.
I must hurry. There is little time.
Valar Guide Me!

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #18 am: 11. Okt 2017, 15:17 »
Festus the Red, you shall now abandon the borders of these miraculous woods, which are an oasis of light and safety, in the midst of what is uncertain and even cryptic to fathom. I salute you and your deeds from afar, hoping in good will and confidence that you have much more to give to this world which grows chill. You have heard it, haven't you? The rumble of storm approaching my domain; menacing clouds of hatred. Our odious enemy sends his worst to challenge my right and my law. I shall not step back or even accept the prospect of defeat. During this war and now still, all who are good and decent have battled which is not, with enormous fatigue and unspeakable toil. Everyone has a part and foremost task to fulfil, my lovely fox of fiery soul. You have one too. And you will accomplish that, for of this prediction I am certain. You crave redemption and admittance among the other noble wizards, sent from across the other shore, beyond the very roundness of this very world of ours. World that we love and for which I shall give my all.

Let us therefore brace ourselves to our mission of imperative sort. Fate calls you and guides your destiny unto the mysterious South of these lands. There, the ultimate challenge is awaiting you and your presence is thus required. Required and demanded, by the utmost Good of Middle-earth, which is our all-powerful master and commander. The goal of all that we desire and hope for. Pray for me and I shall for you too. Me meeting you has rekindled my spirit again, I confess, for each of us is the craftsman of our own future. Let us leave aside past faults and ancient flaws. We are given now the chance to mend and fix what is broken. To mend this world and save the course of things which is to be. This we are to do in unity and in the refusal ever to be intimidated by what is up to us to do. Unto our triumph over the Evil and over the tentacles of fear that for too long have choked the Free People of the earth. You need not doubt your skills, for anything of necessary note you were endowed with. When will wants, you may do the impossible and the door is always left ajar. Hence, my blessing to you. I send my love and greatest trust.

Prior to my departure from the shores, mortal and grey, we shall see each other one more time still. Or, what if the benevolence of the Powers had another design for you? You might be given permission to leave with us, with the divine consent, sailing to the shires which death or somber withering have never known.

Isaac632

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #19 am: 11. Okt 2017, 18:25 »
There is little time on Durin's Day, when the sun and moon combine and the stars shine like candles in the sky.
Despite the soreness of my body, I press on bravely; my staff is my third leg, and my hood will shield my eyes.
I remember all of these constellations from the textbooks I was told to read. These stars go this way. Those stars go that way.
This will be a long stride, through these cold places in the sky.
I put my faith in the starts to steer me along, the torches who will show the path before my eyes.
The ceiling of the world is a map for me to read. I will go this way. I then go that way.

Here the place is!
Shaman's Rock... A large pillar inscribed with runes and hieroglyphs glows in the horizon.
And there is a thick grove of trees surrounding it, but its glow shines through.
I shall stop here to rest and meditate, to rest my mind and investigate the place.

And now, as I sit and think, the stone starts to crumble before my eyes to reveal its boon.
Ah, so here is the treasure gifted to me.
A ring must have been hidden within this rock several generations ago,
Not any ordinary ring, but an enchanted jewelry of masterful craftsmanship.
I have heard of these before, Saruman had taught me about great sorcerers who could bind powers to these precious objects.
What could this one do for me? There is but one way to find out.

Warmth. Warmth and heat. It burns! It burns my skin! AAH!
Get off! Get off! I can't get it off!
This is the most painful ring I have ever worn!
It shines, it glows, it shrinks and grows,
And onto my finger it binds itself with the burning of a white forge.
With all of my might, the ring is still stuck to me,
As though it has a will of its own to incinerate and vaporize.
Now on my hand, the burning stops.
We are one! As though a union of two parts of one soul,
I now possess this piece on my body, never to lose it.
I dare say... it must have been forged with me in mind, since the beginning.

… I am not alone here. I can suddenly hear the breath of a dozen stalkers in the trees around me.
Rotten, subterranean smells.
Goblins! They have waited here to ambush me.
Begone, you spidery fiends!
… Oh dear! I didn't expect to do that.
I wanted to scare them away with sparks, but every tree at Shaman's Rock has suddenly burst into flames.
They're all dead now, but I must get out of here before other goblins see the smoke and are drawn near.

This powerful ring... I like it. It's... strangely in sync with my will, like a doppelganger.
There is a sort of mystical magical presence within it that I can feel in my mind.
Much like the voice of that awful ghost from Cirith Ungol,
Only... it's me. My inner self, coming to life, and becoming my guide.
And now I feel also the presence of many, many other people in the recesses of my mind.
Egads! This is no ordinary work of sub-par enchanting. It is a ring forged of students of a student of Aule, the Great Smith!
Countless ones have been made before the legendary rings of Middle Earth, scattered across this world.
I can faintly feel the presence of other ring-bearers.
Something is wrong. I feel one calling for aid.
And I feel another one calling for death.
Northwards, I faintly hear the sounds of war drums and siege machines...
… Galadriel!

Into my beastly form I go, for there is little time, and I must make haste beyond haste.
My robes and staff dissipate in favor of swift paws and a tail for balance.
I can still feel the burning from my ring coursing throughout my body,
No longer as a hostile flame, but now an energy to give my legs strength!
The hunt begins! I can smell steel and smoke to the north of here nearby Lothlorien.
The excitement gives even greater speed to my stride,
I may never tire at this rate.
Even my foxlike disguise has been... greatly empowered.
Scarcely have I been able to keep up with other wild foxes before,
And yet I must be running at a speed that I cannot comprehend.
Galadriel... I can feel her more strongly now.
Her ring and mine are starting to communicate to one another through some unknown rift.
I'm not going to make it in time.
I must call out to her!
I howl as loud as I can, in hope that her ears are reached by the sounds of an unlikely ally,
Come from mountains cold and ancient, with renewed vigor and strength.
Hold out the enemy, My Dear Galadriel!
Festus, the Red, is returning to your realm.

What's this? There's chaos out there. There is a swarming sea of brawling beasts out here in this field.
Just beyond the World Tree, which is belching smoke and steam.
I must have a closer look.

Warriors! Hired ones. Not very friendly. These ones have been gathered by a fell hand's command.
This is the largest fight I have seen in a while, nowhere near as great as any of the skirmishes I've seen between the barbarians and horsemen of Rohan and Dunland.
Orcs, ghouls, zombies, wolves;
All as innumerable as the sand grains of the sea shore.
I feel the presence of two ring-bearers here.
Galadriel, no doubt.
And another one... familiar, and horrifying.
Could it be the one? He whom I faced at the keep of Cirith Ungol?
Even more powerfully than ever, do I feel him,
And so does he feel me, just as strongly.
I feel as though I know him now, this nemesis of mine.
… Not just any ancient king. A legend! A conqueror from the lands of Angmar.
… Murazor!
Dreadful Murazor, the Witch-King of Angmar,
I can see him searching for me once again. His steed has turned—it's coming right for me!

“Ah, so The Fox shows his face.”

No... No! Not again! The voice in my head has returned!
His awful screech has pierced my ears again.
It has struck me like a storm front.
My clever disguise has been stripped from me with terror.
A posse of the Angmarhim immediately make for me, The Wizard, to be halted by the Witch-King's command.
He wishes to face me alone...
Time has slowed—all noise has become deafened to me.
The sight of every soldier fighting around me has become blurred and greyed.
Once again, I cannot move. The Nazgul approaches on-foot.
He speaks to me in my mind, my eyes cannot look away from him.

“I see you have found Your Ring, as our master has preordained.
Yes, feel it cling to your flesh, Festus.
Let its power flow through your body, like a torrent of heat.
But even this will not save you.
In desperation to come to her rescue,
You have sprinted only to your doom.”

I need to get up. I need to snap out of this, but I can't move.
I must fight back. It can't end like this.
The Morgul Blade is drawn,
Poisoned with the wailing souls of the damned.
Closer, and closer, he comes. Taunting me!
I am even more powerless than last time. Frozen with dread.
Immobilized with my true weakness.
Despair.

“You made a fine duelist when last we met.
This time, I show you the difference between your power and mine.
It has been a pleasure to bear witness to your abilities,
But now it is time for you to be one like us.
You will make a fine servant, molded in my image.
Die for me now, and forsake your mortal body.”

Suddenly I hear the thundering of stags, and the horn of the Noldor.
Immediately, the trance is broken, as Murazor's attention is drawn away.
And now I move in to strike, my furious defiance setting my body on fire.
We duel once more, as elk-riders from Mirkwood fight their way to my rescue.
I will not let you defeat me, ancient shadow!
You may seize my courage, but you will not have my soul!

On tattered wings, the Witch-King flees the onslaught,
Hissing at me, and promising that we would once again meet.
Here, there comes soldiers from Rivendell, from Mirkwood, from Fangorn and Lorien,
And men of the Dunedain rangers.
The Elves and their allies are fully gathered to the defense of their homelands.
Even some of the dwarves appear to have showed up for the fight,
In a celebration of Durin's Day, they have come to fight evil in his honor.
And so have I also been called to battle,
For the safety of the innocent, I must come to Galadriel's aid.

My body is on fire!
It hurts, and yet it gives me such strength!
It is time to let the power of my wild heart loose.
Even grander than before have my spells become.
Man, orc, and wight have all become wary of me,
As I conjure a multitude of blades of flame,
And a storm of smoke grows in the battlefield,
Blinding the eyes of my enemies, and suffocating their lungs.
The elves have already laid waste to the enemy's siege machines,
Their elks and skin changers have crushed a multitude.
But though they seek to fight alongside me,
They are wary of me, and keep their distance.

Its My Ring.
They found out that I've found my ring.
Everyone around me is becoming so afraid.
Fight on! We must fight on, and be rid of these servants of evil.
I am becoming angrier and angrier as the storm of war grows stronger.

Now what is happening?!
The elves are fleeing the scene, into the trees,
And so are the Angmarhim retreating away from the fortress.
The arrows of the trees raining down upon them, thinning their numbers.
But as a last act of mockery,
I behold the orcs dragging away the corpses of the dead.
Gnarled, torn, bloated bodies slain in battle, they are now being dragged through rock and mud,
Shredding and cutting on the rocks and scrap armor,
To be reanimated by wicked powers back in the mountains of Arnor,
Where Murazor rules supreme.
Everyone is fleeing, except for me.
Why?

Now, to my eyes appears the greatest of mockeries.
There staggers a jeering orc, carrying the spoils of war.
A bundle of innocent foxes, over his shoulder,
Bloodied and bruised to death during the onslaught.
One of many amicable creatures of Lorien who have been hunted down by their merciless enemy,
And slain for sport, to be eaten by rotten creatures,
Their bones to become powder for alchemy,
And their pelts to become leather for shields of battle.
Who could justify such senseless evil or violence,
Against such beautiful creatures, who know not their right paws from their left?
It makes my blood boil.
I shake and shiver with rage, at the sight of this wickedness.
The free people and the denizens of nature have done nothing to deserve a genocide.
I will not stand for it! How many times have these monsters gotten away with such abominable acts?
The flames of my body rise, and rise—I feel dreadful burning pain throughout my entire body,
Screaming with fury and indignation,
I now run to these deserters!

My rage is all-consuming!
Power overwhelming!
I condemn these traitors of nature, these products of Morgoth, these mockeries of all that is good.
Burn to ashes!
Fall to pieces and evaporate!
Barrage after barrage, I continuously throw my anger at them,
My fury made manifest in blazing light and smoke that blots out the stars.
Walls of red and yellow trap the remaining besiegers,
And even great monsters of the mountains melt away in a sea of death.
The Angmarhim panic and perish,
They have no hope of leaving here alive.
I will not let them escape to Carn Dum,
To come back with reanimated dead to add to their ranks.
My indignation is final.

At last, I deliver their final doom.
Releasing the full force of My Ring, a brilliant eruption breaks from the ground.
Fires from the ground and sky converge—Flames from the underworld and the heavens collide,
In a detonation of legendary proportions.
I put all of my anger into this final moment,
Let the world be awed by my return,
Festus, the Red Wizard.
The pillar of flame shines with the brilliance of the sun,
A monolith of burning light, bright as the breaking dawn.
The flames and smoke rise higher, and higher, like a tower of endless height.
And so the sphere of destruction has vanquished the Witch-King's wicked forces.
Nothing remains but ashes, dust, and scorched earth.
May these evil minions be erased for good, never again to be rebuilt by necromancy.

… I did it...
… I actually vaporized an entire army, fielded by one of the most wicked rulers of history.
This entire place has become a desolate, dry wasteland just beyond a rich realm of life and lush grass.
The smoke dissipates in the wind. The sun and moon separate. The stars disappear.
It is finished.
I cannot believe my eyes! Here there once was a multitude of soldiers,
And now the place is an empty field for nature to once again take back,
And make fruitful with grass and wildlife for another age.
Fire: Power in nature's rawest of form,
Fire, to turn flesh into dust,
To feed the hungry ground, and nourish the soil.
I now understand the merit of my affinity,
That the Loremasters do not.
For fire is the essence of light and heat,
The energy of life.
Perhaps I need not to join the Elves in their studies.
I have achieved a power of my own with which to fight against the evils of the world.
And to cleanse the lands of sin and imperfections.

Yes... Now I know what I must do!
I make for Isengard at last,
To face off against one who claims to be greater and wiser than myself!
Long has he thought me unfit to join his league in the defense of the Free Peoples.
A pompous dotard, of great power and wisdom and equally great pride and arrogance,
Whom I used to idolize as my role model.
Once I humble him, he may receive me once again!
At long last, I will have a purpose again in this world.
Finally, I will study the secret arts of magic,
With his defeat at my hands, I will be free to pursue my dreams!

… My Ring speaks to me. I must hurry.
I can feel two or three other ring-bearers in the back of my mind. They are afraid. They are shocked and disturbed.
Never mind Murazor, who has fled the scene of battle.
I need to make for Isengard.
There will be ample time for me to rest on my journey there.
It took me much of my power and energy to vanquish Angmar's forces.
I should not stay here, lest someone comes for me to interrupt my new plans.
I shall prove myself to Saruman, the White,
To redeem myself in his eyes, and be found useful again,
And I will become his greatest student. Who knows? Maybe I can come with him on his various missions throughout Middle-Earth to be at his aid!
… But... Even as I now go... I feel a sense of dreadful worry from around me.
The feeling as though I am being hunted.
I can faintly recognize their faces...
… Galadriel... I can see her! I can see her looking across the empty battlefield trying to find me.
And... a wizard. Dark are his clothes, and long is his beard.
… No ring do I know what Gandalf Carries... How so does he sense me, then?

No! I will not allow you to stop me!
If either of them seek me out, they will have to catch me first!
It is my lifelong dream to be honored and blessed among the divine,
To walk among the angels and gods of goodness and peace and love!
I will not be held prisoner in Middle-Earth,
Where my fleshly body shall wither and die meaninglessly,
And my soul descend to a void in the underworld.
Back into the skin of a fox, I change!
I flee! I fly ever faster!
You will not hold me back.
No-one will!

Walküre

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Re: The Minstrel Contest
« Antwort #20 am: 14. Okt 2017, 22:32 »
The clash

Valour of old, awake! At the grim hour courage has been summoned, and the Lady accepted such imperative challenge,
She came forth as the Elven Queen she is, composure of the ancient sort and resolution firm, for she was adamant in the guarding of her sunny domain,
Defeat was no option or alternative worthy of mention, lest doom were over all that by the holy touch of light was made,
How could truce be found via the means of sword and menace, signing a treaty of death without glory or wit?

The regency of Lórien was to give its utmost best, in order to fend off whom the just defender should always battle, who is the impious assailant, governed by ruthless thirst for blood,
Lesser minions, thrown in the heat of harsh war, with the sole objective in mind that is for us all the least guise of demise,
Raw servants, bred and forged, stain of felonies and many past faults,
They were of the immortal kind once, like lost tales record, blessed by innocence and love, until preys they had become in the hands of whom is cause of all which is wrong and which from piety detaches.

Nay, evil intelligence behind your mere tricks, it was not enough to bend the Lady's will and climb over of triumph the peaks,
Your obscure devices were simply rendered useless, for fool is the one who on the devilry of science and industry relies,
Seeking for wood to reduce into ashes and for slaves to exploit in all sorts of malicious deeds, as from the Ring of Isengard fell smoke we beheld, which was in truth a cry of pain and somber request, because trees were made to suffer and ever-sensitive to be, those who silently observe and live, an existence of testimony as old sentinels that the burden of toil never detest,
The broad green of this grey world, despised by darkness and often mauled by its fangs, it is instead preserved within the rule of justice and love,
You shall see, odious foes, the grudge of nature and of the whole earth, this is what you are to contest, for murder rectified will be and ultimate vengeance we predict as last outcome of eventful days.

Hers is a soil of gold, untainted and never-altered in the course of centuries, evidence of majesty that still persists among gloomy shades,
It's the domain of the Queen, renowned for her locks, memory forbidden to the most of how Arda used to be in antiquity, not bare nostalgia nor grievous remorse,
The mightiest Elda, of the Third Age, disenchanted shires, now grown weary, she's thus the beacon of hope which its very last radiance to Middle-earth has yet to gift,
Behold her, the Princess of Kôr, eight millennia she made lit and joyful, and secure any guest was within her reign,
The ultimate act of might of hers, she's yet to perform that and annals shall recall this day in glory, as glorious as the indomitable will to aid the Good's cause.

She is to make her way to that cursed hill,
Dwelling of sorcery and foul arts, it is a gaol in which many lives their tragic twilight saw,
The lair which the Dark Lord sheltered, when he first appeared as phantom to seek a newer scope for return,
Those ghoulish stones shall crumble and wail, dismembered and severed in wrath, upon the ladyship of Galadriel the gates of the eerie fortress down are to be torn, in akin manner of the brightest gem which is counted among the Eldar, but the fate of Men she had eventually chosen, after a legendary quest of extraordinary peril, when an erstwhile stronghold of Sauron by the sung incantation of Lúthien was equally conquered.

Ranks and ranks of hideous creatures were annihilated by the charging of Lórien's gallant host, as skilled warriors took down that multitude of evil with the most decisive resolution and incredible firmness. The Silver Lord of the woods breached the lines of his foes and commenced the just slaughter that had to take place. It had to befall, while the forces of the good side were striving and suffering in other places, at the resistant gate of the Lonely Mountain and under the strong marble of the Sentinel-city of Gondor, which is a lone shrine of hope against thick ashes and fires infuriating on the horizon, beyond such dreadful chain of hills and sharp rocks; the hazardous ways that lead to Mordor, fell heart of the Enemy and realm of tyranny. Thus, the flames of war reached the fine earldom of the Golden Wood. Blood ran through grass and soft ground, at the edge of those bewitched forests. It was all a mess of howls and gore. Dead remnants lying solitary as plain reflection of the conflict. That was gruesome experience and spectacle to behold. Yet, the valiant guardians of the millenary domain had not flinched nor faltered. Henceforth, victory was near and close.

The tales of the battle were made richer and longer by the lucky intervention of Festus the Red. Wavering temper, yet fiery will. His spells of fire brought death and sorrow for the opponents, and his prowess grew and was made livelier via the usage of an uncanny ring. It is perhaps one of the Rings of Power that of much trouble were authors in this world. Their nature is deceptive and treacherous their final goal, apart from the hidden Three. To the Wise they had been entrusted; three mighty figures of an ancient past of bliss. Sensing that a Ring was near, the Lady opted for direct combat: while her Ring was impenetrable shield for any blade or venomous spear, the sole gesture and flick of her hands were waves of energy and bright lightning in a night without many stars, rumbling as thunder and vicious weather, that was the fury of the Princess of Kôr, assuming a dreadful fashion in the time of urgency and foremost need. Then, the horrid foes realised that doom was upon them and the chance to flee they therefore seized. Yet, once they were about to cross the river, full of corpses and desolate ghouls, the Lady had already headed thither too. She spoke words of condemnation and the very river she summoned at her behest; the spirit of those waters raged and its course became a stormy juggernaut that none could halt, for the Orcs had dared throw in its water all sorts of filth and deceased beings. Moved by the Queen's decree, the river drowned all those filthy beasts and that was just retribution for anything which had thitherto tormented the ways of blue and ponds.

A word of wisdom

''Fiery friend of ours, Festus the Red, hearken to me, your Lady who dwells in the core of the enchanted green. May you hear this word of wisdom of mine. You are after sham plans and designs. Phoney advices you have paid attention to, alas, of a bogus benefactor who proclaims to act for your good. The one-time White Wizard is no more, for he's thus a beggar covered in shame and regret. A new white Istar has just taken the guidance of our war in his sacred hands. Can't you perceive what is befalling in the South? Men of diverse kingdoms are chanting in joy, because the Tyrant was vanquished and is finally gone. The Ruling Ring was undone in the fire from whence it had emerged. The other artefacts of that sort are soon to undergo the same destiny; this is an inexorable consequence, my buoyant ally, in that all Rings were crafted through the same general art, of which Sauron was disgraceful inventor and doer. My Ring is to vanish and fate, in equal terms. Hither, where we have come in far eras before, we shall face decay. Only, a possibility for immortal beings rests still available: the Valar left the door ajar...

Festus, follow me. And the chief of your order and the kind Lord of the Valley. We're due to abandon these grey shores, sailing to the realm of the Archangels of the World. We shall voyage whither, where naught dies and all lives in endless eternity under the skies of Eä. You can join our journey, if you desire. If you long for blessings and merriment without end, you ought to elect our path. And I shall speak in the old tongue again; the tongue of Aman and Valinórë itself. Our home and definitive harbour of happiness.''

Eldamar, thee I shall behold again,
Thy green hills, treasure carved in the wall, in which the fortunes of my House began,
I am certain, the dawn of my life thou hast fashioned, I wonder,
To the primeval seat of the Powers' throne, I shall go yonder.
« Letzte Änderung: 15. Okt 2017, 04:13 von Walküre »