Poetry of wesnoth
There have been at least two epics written about wesnoth. Put any you have written here!
The Breaking of the Pact
(by Turin the Bard and Autolycus)
When Haldric landed on this shore From oceans wide and deep, He had no scholars learn'd in lore, No kin, nor land to keep. So Haldric founded with his men The Land which poets sing, He named it Wesnoth, 'Verdant Glen', And ruled as lord and king. Now, in their forests dim and green, The Elves were hard at war, With villains they had never seen The likes of which before. The Orcs were harsh, the Orcs were fell, The Orcs were grim and mad; The Elves did hate these foes right well, Who killed them and were glad. The Elves sent messengers that day Who hoped to save their land; They went to Wesnoth far away, And found the race of Man. The race of Men, a short-lived breed, Could sicken, fail and die; But in that hour the Elves had need, Brave hearts did Man supply. Across a field of shattered foes The Elves and Men took oath, To help with swords and spears and bows, Though now 'twas peace for both. Haldric still lived in times that came, When Orcs attacked again; The Elves lit bright the beacon flame, For Haldric's valiant men. Then came the night, the battle flared, From sunset until dawn; The Elves fought hard, and strove, and dared For Haldric's hope at morn. But as the Elves began to fall, (Will Haldric's shieldmen hear?) Their doubt and darkness covered all (Where are his sword and spear?) Their oath betrayed, their fury spent, They steeled themselves to die; But from a last beleaguered tent Came forth a mighty cry. Belian the Mighty raised his sword, To slay Orcs far and near; The flame he bore, his lifting word, They saved the land held dear. The Orcs held firm, though grave their plight, With Belian on the field; The Elves, hard-pressed to turn the fight, Missed sorely Haldric's shield. But then the sun rose in the East And Belian's head crowned gold; The elves surged forth o'er Orc and beast To slaughter them tenfold. No Orcs remained, the field was clear, The Elves had won the day; But none of Haldric did appear From Wesnoth far away. So in that hour, the pact foresworn, Elves bitter words did say; And sent no aid when Orcish morn Lit Wesnoth far away.
An Untitled Poem about Gwiti Ha'atel
by Elvish Pillager and Autolycus
A necromancer cold as lead, a battle fought by Ezren's stone; he raised the corpses of the dead and made his eldritch power known. He through the darkness called to those, the shades who heard from nether shore who came to him, who dead arose; They took his life and left no more. They turned him into dark undead to rise again, in evil bound; he sought the living, blood to shed, that they might be in undeath drowned. The living cast him from the land to perish on the ocean waves; but he survived, and raised his hand and sent foul monsters to their graves. His brother then he came upon and slew him with his undead hosts and kept them marching on and on to those who cast him from their coasts. Then Leganoth came unto him - a spirit great, of darkness made - to steal the Skull from orcish limb of Agarash, the spirit bade. But half the skull was not enough; he cast the spirit from this plane and fought great battles with his staff for old Crelanu's book, his bane. The tome he wrested from its grove where Orcs and Elves were long at war; for he with Walking Corpses strove to seize the book, and wanted more. An army then accosted him and he defeated it with ease; but Paladins came after them and undead vanished in the breeze. He fled unto a mountain pass, and came to gates of Dwarvish realms where foes fought him until at last his armies crushed their shields and helms. There half the Skull of Agarash was hidden in the ancient caves; he fought another mighty clash and made another field of graves. But Orc steals skull and leaves alone, and boulders fall and he is trapped; yet minions dig a way through stone and he falls not in darkness wrapped.
The Voyage of Meneldur
by Turin the Bard and Autolycus
The houses burned a fiery red; The Watch raised forth alarms; The villagers, they turned and fled From force of orcish arms. Meneldur held the streets till late, A mighty elf was he, A sailor on the seas of fate, A staff of destiny. "Back to the ship!" Meneldur boomed As orcish might won through; Elensefar the Fair was doomed Despite Meneldur's crew. They left the port a burning waste The palace doors ajar; They swore that though they left in haste, They'd save Elensefar. A mighty oath they offered then On sword and bow and spear: Elensefar would be again The home they held so dear. Meneldur set out to recruit An army to defeat The orcs who'd come to burn and loot And pillage every street. The first to join was Black the Red Who joined the worthy cause To save the home and make orcs dead (The home, but not its laws.) They traveled over sea and land, Defeating orcs and men; They trained a host to fight on sand, On hill and plain and fen. But one green isle they landed on Was different from the the rest; Their task was still too far from done - There lurked a mighty test. For elves condemned Meneldur's "theft" Of craft from elves at war: "Outcast!" they cried, "Our home you left Returning nevermore!" "We have aligned with orcs, no less, To bring you to your doom!" (Consid'ring not the lawlessness Their act would thus assume.) Meneldur to his vast dismay Must slay both kin and orcs; And having done, he sought to try The path where danger lurked. "Return we to Elensefar!" The crew yelled out in cheer, Disdaining orcs which tried to bar Their path to home so near. The ships made land, a host aboard, The flame of war alight - At first they won by craft of sword, And courage in the fight. But elves appeared, this much is known, And men from Wesnoth-land, To make Elensefar their own. (Not what Meneldur planned!) The weary host, a motley crew, Meneldur's heroes all, Said, "Captain, we will follow you Though half our number fall!" They triumphed though the field seemed lost After a battle grim, But victory came at heavy cost Of friendly life and limb. Elensefar at last was free From reign of foeman scum; Meneldur's host, their Lord was he To make a nation one. So now we end Meneldur's tale, Of riot, wrath and doom; We leave him now to sip his ale And tip-toe from the room.
Last Stand of the Birchwood Band
A golden sun, a bloody field. The Orcish host refused to yield. Hundreds had we slain that day. Trolls as well, while we were fey. But now the day is grinding on, and greater hosts menace yon. The vim and vigor of expected glory, wanes and ebbs as fates turn gory. Our Captain slain whilst sol did set. His child and wife I never met. On the left our treefriends burned. On our right the flank was turned. The mortal men had finally fled. Their leaders left behind for dead. An elder shaman atop a hill, gave her foes a mighty chill. As she fell Isar did groan, For truly now our band was lone. “Onward!” he cried, And hence we hied. For what ends, had our best died? A fen, a stream? The elders’ dream? Quickly these words, had lost their gleam. Across the glen we sang and slew, and reddened blades could scarcely hew, the tide foes, through which flew. Then Amor lay stricken, as goblins thickened, Whilst fair Urandel the sad, went slowly mad. Our band was broken, except a token, round mighty Isar's blade. Yet even heroes are bound to fall, when duty makes them heed a call, Not for justice or the right, but for ambition in us all. Their courage spent, their clothing rent, the sharpest steel, was slowly bent. Tonight's a night, shall live in lore. Brave Isar's banner, flies no more.
The Heart of the Frozen Forest
Folkflore, also know as 'The Secret of the Frozen Forest'
Her pines are as white hot steel, Her light a blinding sun, Her beauty a young bride's veil. She is as mother to all, one alone can enter her heart and say he did not fall Her pines are as white hot steel, Her light a blinding sun, Her beauty a young bride's veil.
The Sceptre of Fire
The land of Wesnoth's banner bold Comes not from its own land; It comes from Dwarfdom, grim and old Made by a runesmith's hand. So now I tell from whence it came - The Fire-sceptre great - And of the makers of the same, Their tale I now relate... (Translations)
Caves of the Basilisk: The Drake
The winds of the dark sky blew so cold, The moon was high, the night was old, Brave was the drake that dared forsake His home to steal the Basilisk’s gold. On that dark night, the skies so churned, He disregarded what he had learned, Foolish but brave, to the Basilisk’s cave, He flew, and the fire within him burned. Alas, that fire burns no more, For the Basilisk, with one mighty roar, Chilled him to the bone, and he turned to stone, And so he stays forevermore. The winds of the sky blow so cold, The years pass by, the days are old, Here stands that drake, who dared forsake His home to steal the Basilisk’s gold. (inscribed by Flametrooper)
A poem about a multiplayer map.
Caves of the Basilisk: The Elf
Slim of Stature, dexterous Hands — Seven Stones and Eleven Left his Foes so slim a Chance — Seven Stones and Eleven Marksman known as Dragonbane ’mongst the Statues here was slain — Seven Stones — and the Elven (inscribed by Gauteamus)
A poem about a multiplayer map.