The Song of the Urdish Men
We've been roleplaying all week. At one point, my character persuaded a notable NPC (formerly a brief stand-in PC) to doubt his life-long loyalty. This led very swiftly to his death. I promised that his name would live forever more. This is my promise kept.
(In latter days, the tune of this song will be applied to new words, and be named The Song of the Western Men.)
Come all ye mighty men of Urd
And harken to my song
Of Gyula, swayed by Thrandin's word,
Who took a stand 'gainst wrong.
We sing his name forever more,
From Urd to Khazad Dum
From Chey to fairest Engirdor,
We sing this stirring tune.
Chorus: And Gyula, he was brave!
And Gyula, he was strong!
A hero of the Urdish men,
Who died resisting wrong.
That noble lord, King Hoarmurath,
Upon his deathbed lay,
When tidings came of storm and wrath
Which caused him great dismay,
Bold Thrandin and brave Thorofin
Their weapons they did gird,
With Sirithglor and Angruin,
And Gyula, man of Urd.
From slaughtered village, cruelly slain,
The trail led to the east,
To Racku, land of evil fame,
The haunt of orc and beast.
A battle on a bridge was fought,
And won with fire and sword,
Destruction to the orcs was brought
By power of Thrandin's word.
Upon a mere where frogs lay dead,
They slew the orcish horde -
Their badge, a claw of wolf, blood red -
And Nurklenak, their lord.
But underneath the deepest tower
Were dark spells and dread forces,
And while they wrestled with that power,
A wolf pack ate their horses.
Thorofin was fair and fleet,
Too fast for wolves to catch him.
The others walked on slower feet,
A warg pack tried to snatch them.
Angruin threw a ball of light,
But fell down badly mauled,
The elf with golden hair took fright,
"Oh, who can help?" she called.
"Fear not!" said Gyula, strong and true,
O'erstepping fallen elves.
He slew not one, he slew not two,
But three wargs by himself.
Thrandin slew a fourth, then spoke,
Wise words that stirred the heart,
Or Sirithglor, whose power awoke:
She bade the rest depart.
In Urd, the old king's days were done,
The wyat named his heir,
But Murat, jealous second son,
Declared the choice unfair.
The good of Urd could not him sway,
No loyalty could bind him,
He took his men and rode away,
And hid where none could find him.
Now Gyula had been Murat's man,
And served him with whole heart.
When he returned and found he'd run
He sat awhile apart.
At the feast of Hoarmurath,
He wrestled doubts all night:
Should he walk his former path,
Or risk the path of right?
"Together we fought evil,
Doughty dwarf and man and elf,
But Murat sows upheaval,
Serving no cause but himself!"
So Thrandin spoke, and Gyula stood,
"I go to seek my lord!
I'll lead him to the path of good,
To this I pledge my word!"
No man can know what Gyula said,
Or how his lord replied,
But in the morning, Gyula's head
Across the walls did fly.
Then Murat, leagued with orcs so foul,
His army did decamp,
And with him, fiercely on the prowl,
The werewolf, Carangamp.
But Gyula, Murat's lord of horse,
Was absent from the field,
Without him there, the traitor's force,
Was soon compelled to yield.
His brother Hidek did bear down,
The orcs and wolves he routed,
Wise Feren's claim to wear the crown
Will never more be doubted.
So Gyula's loss was not in vain,
His death gave Feren warning,
The loyal Urdar in his name
Won victory that morning.
So all of us, elf, dwarf or man,
Must strive to be as strong.
Great Gyula shows us how we can
All live resisting wrong.
Written by Thrandin, dwarf of Durin's folk, with some lines contributed by Sirithglor, formerly of Doriath, who purified the Dead Woods and from them made fair Engirdor. Engirdor, fair Engirdor. Why not come and live there? It's very nice!
(In latter days, the tune of this song will be applied to new words, and be named The Song of the Western Men.)
Come all ye mighty men of Urd
And harken to my song
Of Gyula, swayed by Thrandin's word,
Who took a stand 'gainst wrong.
We sing his name forever more,
From Urd to Khazad Dum
From Chey to fairest Engirdor,
We sing this stirring tune.
Chorus: And Gyula, he was brave!
And Gyula, he was strong!
A hero of the Urdish men,
Who died resisting wrong.
That noble lord, King Hoarmurath,
Upon his deathbed lay,
When tidings came of storm and wrath
Which caused him great dismay,
Bold Thrandin and brave Thorofin
Their weapons they did gird,
With Sirithglor and Angruin,
And Gyula, man of Urd.
From slaughtered village, cruelly slain,
The trail led to the east,
To Racku, land of evil fame,
The haunt of orc and beast.
A battle on a bridge was fought,
And won with fire and sword,
Destruction to the orcs was brought
By power of Thrandin's word.
Upon a mere where frogs lay dead,
They slew the orcish horde -
Their badge, a claw of wolf, blood red -
And Nurklenak, their lord.
But underneath the deepest tower
Were dark spells and dread forces,
And while they wrestled with that power,
A wolf pack ate their horses.
Thorofin was fair and fleet,
Too fast for wolves to catch him.
The others walked on slower feet,
A warg pack tried to snatch them.
Angruin threw a ball of light,
But fell down badly mauled,
The elf with golden hair took fright,
"Oh, who can help?" she called.
"Fear not!" said Gyula, strong and true,
O'erstepping fallen elves.
He slew not one, he slew not two,
But three wargs by himself.
Thrandin slew a fourth, then spoke,
Wise words that stirred the heart,
Or Sirithglor, whose power awoke:
She bade the rest depart.
In Urd, the old king's days were done,
The wyat named his heir,
But Murat, jealous second son,
Declared the choice unfair.
The good of Urd could not him sway,
No loyalty could bind him,
He took his men and rode away,
And hid where none could find him.
Now Gyula had been Murat's man,
And served him with whole heart.
When he returned and found he'd run
He sat awhile apart.
At the feast of Hoarmurath,
He wrestled doubts all night:
Should he walk his former path,
Or risk the path of right?
"Together we fought evil,
Doughty dwarf and man and elf,
But Murat sows upheaval,
Serving no cause but himself!"
So Thrandin spoke, and Gyula stood,
"I go to seek my lord!
I'll lead him to the path of good,
To this I pledge my word!"
No man can know what Gyula said,
Or how his lord replied,
But in the morning, Gyula's head
Across the walls did fly.
Then Murat, leagued with orcs so foul,
His army did decamp,
And with him, fiercely on the prowl,
The werewolf, Carangamp.
But Gyula, Murat's lord of horse,
Was absent from the field,
Without him there, the traitor's force,
Was soon compelled to yield.
His brother Hidek did bear down,
The orcs and wolves he routed,
Wise Feren's claim to wear the crown
Will never more be doubted.
So Gyula's loss was not in vain,
His death gave Feren warning,
The loyal Urdar in his name
Won victory that morning.
So all of us, elf, dwarf or man,
Must strive to be as strong.
Great Gyula shows us how we can
All live resisting wrong.
Written by Thrandin, dwarf of Durin's folk, with some lines contributed by Sirithglor, formerly of Doriath, who purified the Dead Woods and from them made fair Engirdor. Engirdor, fair Engirdor. Why not come and live there? It's very nice!