The Wolf & The Raven
The Prelude
Mantle of night, the darkness shroud consumes the sky
Winter’s might sings aloud the stab of wind-crooned cry
As the day’s faint warmth bleeds out the body of the kingdom
Dawn faded to dusk, drained golden corpse, embodiment of wisdom
Enlightened blaze eclipsed by nightfall, the domain of horror
This be the land claimed under the still-reign of Aurora
Tired farmers return home, wooden house with a fire
A wife’s loving embrace a welcome place to retire
Hear her humming soft tunes, lullaby
Little boy tucked in as eyes close to dreams of summertime
Green fields painted below the heavenly ocean and the sunrise
Glittering beams, the celestial shine coasts across time
Welcoming the sleeper upon a silver-lined bed
Where weary past fades and forgotten tears go unshed
Farewell to the troubles of the mourning, bliss be the night…
But not all Aurora drifts away to the peaceful streams
Drunken stirs of men hide behind masks, gleeful gleams
Poured upon troubled faces with the sip from a handle
Sweet taste of brimming ale by the dim of a candle
Yet no drink brings back the light of cherished days
Nor revive the faces of remembered brave
Nightwalkers all, lost in a present with no home
Armed only with faint belief in hope to find and atone
Walking the shadows of time fostered halls,
But there was one who walked the darkest corridor of all
Through the icy hiss of winter chill
A stranger walks with bitter will
Hooded and cloaked, a clouded ghost
This man who steps with shrouded hope
Wraith with dusk-shaded eyes in the dark
Fading away, his gaze hides no spark
Deadened grass decays beneath his feet
Colored leaves crunch to defeated beat
His footsteps wander upon The Fallen Plains
As it’s called for the battle it was named
Where the winds whisper tales from the graves
He sees – returning crimson stains
And the faces to the souls he had slain
Their stories etched to the steel of his blade
Written in blood, unwanted history he has claimed…
Midnight strider lost in Aurora; this nation
Buried bones of the kingdom Rouwen beneath its foundation
And these plains are but a pillar to the formation!
Quiet…
The stranger hears an answer to his pain
A single Raven, calling out to his name
Wings of Sorrow glide through the void
But it’s the eyes he tries to avoid
Perched in silence the guilt weighs on his shoulder
His voice is soft: “Can you pray for a soldier?”
Gentle beak taps with the softest touch
Yet the strider reacts with honest disgust
Raven wails across the skies, a tragic hymn
Reflected of him, fluttered tears dance in wind
The droplets utter words to heart within
Fallen echoes remind him of sin
Until he marches on to find comfort in
The things that were and might have been
Lights of the dim, a sign stands at its post
‘The Wolves Den: resign and have a toast’
Weary they come, a traveling host
By old Greywood where peace be the most
The storied place of forested sea
Passed on by greenest leaves, delicate breeze
Yet no life has grown on these desolate trees
Not for years under an endless freeze
Breath of death this malevolent disease
A dragging end to affectionate grief
Sorrow of Old Rouwen passed on to those that believe
Of past and the present the tale that they weaved
With regretful threads still attached to the deceased
A creak as the door opens to the stranger
Dark silhouette of what they see as a ranger
No welcome to outsiders, simply in their nature
A woman’s hate sees but in this can we blame her?
Stalker of the dark dressed as the reaper
“Freak” is the whisper, the name he is keeper
Unholy glare of the void, they perceived him
A demon of nightmares that which they dreamed in
Though unseen, he knows that they’ve seen him
From the legends that would speak grim
He takes his drink and sits alone, a phantom of their hall
Liquid venom numbs the shadow on the wall
The tragic plays performed in his asylum
Are silenced by the poison pool of his quiet island
Where sweetest death greets tired lips
Pondering upon what could be his final sips
Before the last gasp atop the Broken Peaks, private strifes
Ended with a mournful leap released from The Quiet Heights…
Gentle strings tug him free of faraway plane
A single chord echoes ever-laid pain
And all now listen to the forgotten bard
Lute in hand of a man grown hard
Though an angel’s voice still remains
As he begins to sing, his heart in twain
Honey tongue brought to sorrow
Dripping of silver sadness born from tomorrow
The icy heart of the stranger remembers
That singer who will be known forever
As Veril, lost friend found in the embers
Of life’s fire he thought had been ended
Strider amongst the divided
Though united by Veril’s song they are guided
Drifting upon heavenly twine, warmed by wine
And the singer’s voice begins to bind
“These scars, they have burned
For silver stars unreturned
My friends have gone
Beyond the gaze of dawn,
And heaven weeps of mortal sorrow
That bleeds upon the morrow
This song of a long faded lovers' haven
A melodious cry for the Wolf and the Raven…”
