- A Grave Sense of Urgency
- A Song For The Gods
- A Lonely Music Hall
- Excerpts From the War of Leaves (long term project)
- Dusty Old Notes, In Forgotten Bottles on Forgotten Shelves
Early morning comes
Flashlight, bag, hoodie
Into the trees
Leaves, sticks, stone
Into the clearing emerge
Sky, clouds, mystery
The concrete box lies silent
Cold, gray, stained
The door inside is locked
Rust, iron, bars
Swift kicks reveal the depth
Clang, crack, creak
The flashlight clicks on
Dark, pale, deep
Down into the depth
Cold, wet, echos
The forgotten box within
Wooden, ancient, sealed
Inside the box, the letter
Yellowed, cracked, stained
Her portrait inside
Smiling, watching, gone
Escape the dark
Climbing, clawing, sensing
The door swings open
Silence, stillness, soon
Night begins to fall
Creeping, watching, encircling
Running from the hunt
Breathing, panting, tripping
Behind a noise
Snapping, cracking, shuffling
A desperate dash for freedom
Fleeing, praying, crying
Break through to day
Home, safe, free
Stumble in
Sleep, rest, secure
Early morning comes
Flashlight, bag, hoodie
The Gods were kind
And in the dawn we lived happy, humble lives
All was fresh and pure
And in thanks we prayed
The Gods were worried
The world was heavy with burden
The Gods sent signs in clouds and birds
And for aid we prayed
The Gods were angry
And fire rained from sky
War torn land and life, laying low all that was
And in fear we prayed
The Gods were gone
And cold darkness replaced the light
In the old texts we searched for meaning
But found nothing
In desperation we prayed
The Day was gone
The Light was gone
The Gods are gone.
As we will be.
Our choir used to gather here-
We sung of days to come
And shared our dreams in darkened halls with strangers sat-
In rows they gathered to hear our songs
In now yellowed playbills our-
Names now lost to days since passed
Faded paint peels from once vibrant frescos
Those days since passed
Or never were-
Ours, now lost in memories-
Of golden days-
Since passed, now faded tomes in-
Libraries in worlds unseen-
By those who do not know the Way-
To find us here in ancient book-
Ends meet and begin anew
Of the War of Leaves
During the dark of the early years, several wars were fought over the continent of Adria, with many alliances made and broken. Few stand out as brutal and desperate as the War of Leaves. Outside of folklore and ballads, surviving documents from this are few and far between. In an effort to preserve what is known of one of the most influential wars of our great planet for posterity, I have collected a series of excerpts from firsthand accounts and folklore from these times.
> -Grand Scribe, Alban Ascuinni, Third Great Age of her Benevolence Empress Azuili Culitti
Ballad Of the Leaf Folk
We are of the forest,
As numerous as the leaves.
As silent as the winter,
We watch you from the green.
In the night we run free,
And dance among the trees.
Our dance is of the deer,
Noiseless and swift.
Our voice is of the birds,
Carried on the wind.
Our fight is of the wolves,
With fury and with claw.
Our eyes are of the eagles,
We see your every move.
Our homeland once was taken,
And it is ours once more.
Our war is not yet over,
And we will see it through,
You dare to try and kill us,
And so we will kill you.1
Of The Hunters
"…few members of our species match the marksmanship or stealth of The Hunters, a loose tribe-nation located deep in the forests of the eastern coast. Known amongst themselves as the "Leaf Folk", they claim divine right to rule over all of the forests of the Eighth Kingdom, as "revealed" to them by that which they call "The Elder" in the early years of their existence. The warriors of this barbaric civilization are known to favorite their distinctive throwing knives to attack from range, and for their cowardly ambush tactics. They are amongst our oldest foes, and should not be trusted under any circumstances…"
Recovered from The Tome Of Nations2
"…there are many nations beyond the borders of our forests, both ally and foe, among the latter rank the Empire of the Lake. Ruled by those they call "The Council", this warring nation has committed several crime against our people, including but not limited to; destruction of sacred land, killing of tribe members, burning of crops, and annexation of the southern woodlands. The armed forces of this warmongering empire can often be identified by their distinctive battleaxes, ideal for the destruction of our homes…"
The Coward Knives
> -To the tune of "To The Hearth And Hall"
I marched from home a bright young lad,
So happy and so glad,
I took half me pay and sent it home,
The rest I spent away,
I lived a life,
Of blood and strife,
And now we march away,
(Chorus) We ride across the woods,
To die in battle today,
We slay you hiding in the forests,
For causing us dismay,
The drums are pounding,
Winds are howling,
'Cross our homeland plain,
But we go marching to the forest,
For blood, For glory, For pain.
My house now gone,
In blood and song,
Slain by the coward knives,
My father bled,
My wives are dead,
But know I have a son,
So if I fall,
He'll heed the call,
And soon ye'll all lie in red.
(Chorus)
The fires burn,
My mother spurned,
"Said there's none for ye t'day"
But we had to eat,
And me, I love meat,
Marched into the woods that day,
I bought me an ax,
Cut through sharp and fast,
And bagged me a deer,
And none dared come near,
Ill not fear the coward knives,
(Chorus x2)
From "The Song of Birds"3
"…The trees were silent that night, and even the moons themselves lie still in the darkness. The tribe watches the embers of the communal fire die with their hopes. It was Rela who broke the silence. "So this is the end? To fall before the axes of the council? Do we hide our homelands while they are taken from us? Do we watch as fires burn our lands and swallow our ways? Or do we fight? Are we as they are, to roll over at the whim of the council? Do we abandon our knives, our homes, our lives? Or will you join me and stand?" Rela threw another log onto the fire which roared and danced among the tribe now, for all to see." We may fall this day, but we fall together and defiant. We fall not at their whim, but ours! We fight, we bleed, we die, but for no one but ourselves! Have you forgotten who we are? We are the Leaf Folk! We dance among the trees, unheard and unseen! Our song is of the birds, unhindered by men and carried on the wind! We fight as wolves, and non shall stop us!" At this, there was a roaring cheer from the tribe, and all among them grabbed their knives. There was a war to win…"
Of Axes and Knives
"…although the effectiveness of the knives used by the Hunters may be the focus of many tall tales circulating among the warriors of our great empire, the simple fact of the matter remains that with the primitive tools used by the barbarians are too poor and undeveloped to produce anything worthy of a self respecting warrior, let alone an army of those savages. It is of the opinion of this author that the biggest threat one faces over these knives is the incentive they produce among the Hunters to steal the weapons of the dead and dying on the battlefield. In order to prove my theory to the greater populace, I shall march among our brave armies to the next battle in order to demonstrate the lack of effectiveness…"
"…I have seen blood and death, men with the strength and vitality of 20 horses fall, and in each of them… a single knife. I flee now, for my life…"
"I hear them coming. Great ones, forgive me."
The Bark Etchings4
"… (illegible) of the Sands has heard word of our struggle and his armies march now to aid us. We have heard axes in the night. We must defend the (illegible)."
The Night Of Screams5
"… The savages fell like wheat before the scythe, our armies using their axes to great effect. After the fall of the first camp, there were but 12 survivors…"
"… And so the great (Illegible, presumably 'Ardrin'6) struck his mighty blows, slaying scores of the coward, he spied upon the battlefield Rela, the murderer, and charged with unstoppable force, smashing and laying him flat with a single blow of his shield. As he raised his mighty axe, all fell silent on the field, and with a single swoop, the battle was over. The remaining cowards laid their weapons down and were dealt with as is custom…"
"… And so, with our great fires burning, the cowards resorted to their final defense, and burst the dams which had held the seas at bay. The valleys were flooded with a force unseen before or since, and by sun's height of the following day, all was water…"
"… We built our rafts, and crossed the sea that they had made within a fortnight, and ensured that non of them remained alive or free. Their 'Elder' warned of nonsense regarding some 'Way', a pitiful plea for his miserable life. I personally stuck him down, and watched and he passed to the next…"
"… The seas continued to rise from that day, and all of what was ours was lost to the sea. The cowards would rather the land be destroyed than given to the rightful owners, and at the end of the winter, the forest was sea…"
"… All was not lost, and in our allies in the east, we found the skills needed to restore the land, though from salt it is of little use besides housing and trade, and in this act have been deemed worthy of our clan…"
The Bear-Anui Union7
"… AND SO, BY ROYAL DECREE, OUR TWO PEOPLE SHALL BE AS ONE, FROM THE GREAT AX WARRIORS, TO THE CONQUERORS OF THE SANDS, AND BY THIS UNION, HER GRAND EMPRESS DERZINI FERIDINA SHALL BE SOVEREIGN RULER FROM THE EASTERN WASTES TO THE TREES OF THE WEST. ALL PRAISE EMPRESS DERZINI, RULER OF THE NEW EMPIRE!"
"June 6, 2016,
They say in times of disaster that you should keep a journal or notes of some kind to keep from going insane. I don't know if I take much stock in that. Maybe this is just a last ditch effort of being found, or at the least, remembered. My name is James Michael Anderson, and I am 24 years old. My ship went down off the coast of the Gatrin Island chain. I am placing this note in a bottle I found in the sand here. Funny. This piece of glass has been bashed around by waves for who knows how long, and it's in better shape than I am. Cork's still intact too. Let's hope that luck holds out."
"Weird. Last night I could have sworn I saw something like a giant snake splashing in the waves out at sea while I was huddled around my meager fire. Seemed black, but I couldn't make much out beyond that. Had a bit of luck today. Seems I'm not the only one who found their way to this island. Near the center of the island was an old hatch which lead to some sort of old cache of rum and food. This must have been an old smuggler's stache, but I doubt they'll be coming back. This stuff is dated to 1719 at latest, according to the labels. The food's no good, but the rum has held up well. Helped myself to a bottle around… 4 P.M., I'm guessing. There was a chest in there too. Locked. I wonder if I can find a key. I'm going to place this note in that bottle, seal it back up, and throw it in the sea. My name is Alexander Trenton Jr, 19 years old. It is currently the year 1800. My ship went down approximately 14 nautical miles off the coast of Port Gatrin. Please send help."
"Bad luck runs in my family. Ma died giving birth to my little sister, Martha. My uncle got shot in the streets of London, mistaken by a drunken fool for another drunken fool who had had some sort of long standing feud against eachother. Pa went down near the Island that bears his name. Gatrin. And I, like a fool, followed in his footsteps as a smuggler. We buried the rum here to come back for later, jeard there were Navy men about. We decided someone should stay to guard the stash and guess who drew the short straw? Here I am, on the sand, staring out into the endless sea. They left me enough food for a year and sailed off. But of course that wasn't enough. Been seeing things each night. Dark beasts playing in the waves just below the surface. They're practically on the shore. Foul beasts. Might well be demons. The ravenous monsters eat anything that comes too close. Rips the crabs and fish to shreds. Probably plan on doing the same to me. Food went bad 2 weeks ago. Spilt some water I was using to cook over it all. Mold started to grown, made me vomit when I tried to eat it. Can't catch food either. The black eyeless beasts eat anything on shore and there's nothing natural to eat. Though I do suppose I have one bit of luck in my sorry life. I have one pistol and a bit of shit and powder. I'll have one bottle for courage, place the note in, plug it up, and toss it to the sea. Let it be known that I, Albert A. Gatrin, went out on my own terms."
"My name in Gatrin. First name doesn't matter. I am a smugglern explorer, thief, and soon, dead man. I was raised in Glasgow. I lived on the waves. And soon, I will have died on the Island that bears my name. I was not the only survivor of the wreck of the Quentin. Seven souls escaped the sea to land here. Our supplies are not plentiful. After about a week, we began to spot… strange beings on the shore. Strange… impossible beings. Then the screaming started. The powder boy went mad when he first saw one. Screamed himself to death. Navigator was next. One by one they all went. Except Roberts. Was him that actually had the idea to explore this area. You see, Roberts always was a strange man. Never been one to drink, talk, argue. Very quiet, and yet… Well, there was a rumor on the ship as to him. No one quite remembers when he came aboard. Nor do we know a time when he wasn't. He just seems to have always been here. Last night though, he disappeared. Just up and left. Found this note though, some blood on it. It's all that's left of Roberts. I am including it in this bottle before I toss it to the sea and take my own life. I'll not fall to the same fate. If you ever find this Albert, know I loved you. Try to stay away from sea, lad. Only death lies there."
"Dark beings play beneath the waves, in realms of endless night, touched by the darkness which envelopes them, endless black filled with endless horror. Being not quite whole lurk and hunt and kill and breed and feed and are and wait. Long ago, before the first eyes formed, strange beasts swam with the primordial waves. When eyes grew upon the ancient beasts the elders swam deeper, exile beneath the black, fleeing that which saw what none could comprehend. The gods once swam the seas. They left their marks upon the silt in that which they slew. These rejected, with time and darkness turned to stone. These stones now named fossils mark not the old ones, but their prey. The old ones hunted and killed and bred and lurked and fought and brooded. Ever deeper, ever darker they went till all was dark and cold, and there was no day, no sun, no light. Within the dark they changed and formed and killed and waited, waited to arise. The horrors below do not die for they lurk in death. They do not sleep for all is night. They do not hunger, for they feast. They lie in wait to claim the light. To rise above and reclaim the seas. To rise and feed in sun once more. To rend flesh from bone in shallow sea, nameless beings arisen once more. The bones below lie asleep, in wait, in inky black, cold endless night. Their spawn crawl upon unearthly lands and feed upon eachother among their elders bones. They hunt across plains of sand and sea and cross rivers beneath water. They will rise and we shall meet. The elders call to their children. Enter the deep. Slip beneath the waves. Join the murky depths. Enter the deep. Worship at the bones that no light dare touch, no eyes dare see. Enter the deep. Join the darkness. Feel the cold enter you, become you and eyeless beings surround and feed, making you part of them. Enter the deep. Feel the endless darkness rend sight from you that you might know them. That you might rejoin them. Enter the deep. Enter the deep. Enter the deep. Enter the dee-"