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

by Becephalus

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)

See Also

• WesnothHistory