The Bard's Corner

[Embrawk]

(A human with top hat full of feathers and an odd nervous smile speaks in what is clearly of a very poor impression of a dwarven accent)

It has come to my attention, that some of my music/poems/riddles/weird writings may have peeked some people's interest. So I have chosen to share them.

I have declined to speak in dream in the past as I was told information sharing here is dangerous.
I also have many missing marbles from my mind and am afraid my neurosis my trickle threw. But despite all these things, I feel a good step in restoring balance to this world is art. I feel this is but one more way to open the channels of communication between us all.

So I have decided that the best place to share is here in the most creative space of all dream land. So with out further adieu.
I present The Bard's corner a place where myself and any like me with something artsy to see, say, or write, can be observed. Please feel free to join in or just observe.

All are welcome in The Bard's Corner.

 

[Embrawk]

WE'RE OFF TO FEED THE CROWS

Our bevy rang the chime for vengeance

We're off to feed the crows

Threw charing death and ash ascendance

We’re off to feed the crows

Of which is a war only a two eighths threw

We're off to feed the crows

While the elder seeks all life entombed

We’re off to feed the crows

A shadow mother has come to mine

We're off to feed the crows

She will not allow failure a second time

We’re off to feed the crows

Of that which crept and crawls around

We’re off to feed the crows

We drive off most and claim these grounds

We're off to feed the crows

Though Dragons sleep inside the pup

We're off to feed the crows

It's seprical rage my threads erupt

We're off to feed the crows

So cursed meet cursed and unstood

We're off to feed the crows

All who fight do so for the greater good

We're off to feed the crows

The Queen is dead yet there is more to find

We're off to feed the crows

A servant now free of orders for all time

We're off to feed the crows

All grand deeds done but what once again

We're off to feed the crows

Does that brings us closer to revenge

We're off to feed the crows


We're off to feed the crows


We're off to feed the crows


We're off to feed the crows


We're off to feed the crows

We're off to feed the crows

We're her to feed the crows

We're off to feed the crows

We're off to feed the crows

We're off to feed the crows

We're off to feed grey crows

We're off to feed the crows

We're off to feed the crows

We're off to feed the crows

We're off to eyes the crows We're off to feed the crows

We're off to feed the crows

We're off to feed the crows

 

[Embrawk]

TIN SWORD


Verse1

When I was just a young lad my mother said to me

My son be an adventurer and live a life that’s free


So I took my father’s armor and my family sword

I took off on my own into lands I’d never known


Verse 2

That where seven years ago and six months to the day

When word had reached my ear that soon dear ma would pass away


I took off to the trails with determined haste

And walked in to see my dear ma with a bottle in her face


I said ma quit the creature you’re just speeding up the clock

She slurred and said “you’re looking strong, damn my rotten luck”


And in her drunken stupor, she started to explain

It seemed her story was a lie, her advice was all in vain


verse 3

I’m not the son of her husband and her husband wasn’t dead

Upon word of returning she knew that she would be instead


I asked who was my pa and she said “check the pub”

“Could be any drunken slag I done every single one”


And what about my armor and my father sword

She said “The blade is tin and the armor pressing board.”


If you cast me out, why bring me back to see you die

She said “It’s not my death, but me alcohol supply’s”




Verse 4


She heard that I had made it as a sword for hire

And she figured that the money could stay there for awhile


I said you’re daft women why would I stay here

She said “Not you son, it’s the money we want, I fear.”


I said “you better shut it.” and then remembered the “we”

The next I knew there was total darkness surrounding me


I’d been had by my mother and as sad as I had been

At least she left some whiskey and a sword made out of tin

 

[Embrawk]

As promised to a friend, here is a new telling of an old tale.

The Lamb in the Barley

In the long long ago, in a kingdom through the Mysts, there was once a great dwarven kingdom known the lands over for its delicious Dwarven Ale. The secret to this brew was the unique barley which only grew in the royal gardens. Only the king knew how to brew this special ale properly. Now the king was smart enough to know that no dwarf who tasted his Ale could be trusted to guard it and not drink it. He placed the barley and the barrels under constant watch by guards who were sworn to such strict standards that they were never allowed to taste the ale.


One day, a flock of sheep got into the royal garden and began to eat the barley. The alarm was sounded and all the guards ran to drive off the sheep. One guard named Trather was chasing away some sheep away when a small lamb ran between his legs and into the brewery. The lamb happened to knock over a barrel which popped open for but a moment, spraying poor Trather in the face before he could reseal the barrel.


Trather was a good dwarven man, as loyal as ever one could ask in a guard. Trather however smelling the amazing aroma on his beard could not resist. He allowed himself to let the tiniest of drops to drip into his mouth. The taste was amazing but Trather knew the penalty for a guard drinking this ale was death. He quickly grabbed the lamb, dried his beard, and returned to garden.


Trather tried to forget about the king’s amazing ale but it haunted his dreams and the craving grew strong with time. Trather knew he could only ever get more in the brewery, but his patrol only took him around the brewery, never within. He knew it would take a major distraction for him to sneak in again. He realized if it worked once why not again? Trather took a lamb and spent months training. Training it to be able to outrun and outmaneuver the other guards.


Finally the day came to out his plan into action. Trather snuck the lamb into the middle of the garden and sounded the alarm. As the other guards ran out, Trather shouted “lamb in the barley!” The guards scrambled to find the little lamb but it evaded them long enough for Trather to sneak in and drink some of the ale without being seen. Trather then signaled for the lamb and it ran out of the garden and far away.


That night Trather went out and found the little lamb and a month later he repeated his despicable ruse. Then again in two weeks. Then again in one week. Then again three days in a row.


Now the king was no fool. He knew something was going wrong and snuck some green food dye into several of the barrels that were just about finished. The next day he waited in the garden. He heard the alarm and ran towards the voice shouting “lamb in the barley”. He came upon Trather who flashed him a nervous green smile to which the king replied “I know when the lamb is in the barley” with that the king struck Trather dead with his axe and enjoyed a nice lamb chop for dinner.


Now in recent history a few phrases have arisen from this story.


Your teeth are green- means I know you've lied to me.


Greentooth- which is an insulting way of calling someone a trader

I know when the lamb is in the barley- Which means I understand what is really going on or I understand what you really mean.

 

[Embrawk]

The following is not an original piece of my own design. These words come from the far off lands of Terna. They have been graciously allowed to be shared here in our lands.


The Shadow passes away from the Moon



** with a sing song tone **

The cold and icy death reaches,

The hand pierces the mysts and reaches for the Vaults.

The love of sisters cannot prevent the hand


The bird must rise before the dawn

To turn the earth where vermin hides;

‘Ere silver cloud casts shadow on

Where fisher yearns for fairer tides.


When second rises crimson sun

Where cat once dared the magpie’s hoard,

The trumpet sounds from highest point,

And star throws wide the fortress doors.


As third falls night the dark of coal,

And poison seeps through mountain air;

Come nimble hands to kindle flame

Where Ice and Stone have seen her heir.


Fourthly cracks the edge between

The waking world, and realm of dream;

Where dreamers haunt their nightmare’s sleep,

A dozen tethers forged unseen.


Lady FallingStar