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| | Complementario "To Dethrone the Witch-Queen of Mytos K'unn (the
Legend of the Battle of Blackhelm Vale)" Ringtone |
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[The Chronicles of War:]
The vast armies of Mytos K'unn, marshalled by a
sorceress of great power known as Zyrashana the
Witch-Queen, had been cutting a swath through the
Eastern Kingdoms since high summer the preceding
year. Empowering her troops with great sorceries,
she had s een all opposition fall before the
ravening swords of her forces since the first
bloody campaign; the invasion of the ancient and
noble realm of Delania. The aftermath of the final
battle had seen the systematic slaughter of the
Delanian royal family, an d the torture and
execution of all those who had been loyal to their
banner. During the ensuing months, more kingdoms
and satrapies toppled before the might of
Zyrashana's legions, commanded by the fearsome and
unswervingly loyal battle-lord Talus Ebonfy re, a
man of sublime brutality whom many beleived to be
possessed by a demon-spirit from the dark realms.
Emboldened by their victories and the expansion of
their queen's dark dominion, the hordes of Mytos
K'unn began the incursion into the lands of the
Northern Tribes, beginning with the grim and
brooding territories south of the Snow Kingdoms...
the rugged homelands of the warlike clans which
had been recently united into a strong realm by
the powerful warrior-king Caylen-Tor, a man known
to his allie s and enemies alike as the Wolf of
the North. Thinking the barbaric tribesmen little
threat, the Witch-Queen intends a largely
unopposed march throught their lands to strike at
the wealthy and fertile realms beyond the Mountain
Kingdoms to the west... bu t Caylen-Tor has vowed
that a searing torrent of blood and steel shall
meet all those who deign to enter unwelcome or
drive their standard unbidden into his land... As
grim winter slowly yields to spring, the armies of
Mytos K'unn begin their march northwards, and news
of the advance of the Witch-Queen's forces into
Blackhelm Vale, the valley known for centuries as
the Gate to the Northlands, soon reaches the
highla nd stronghold of Caylen-Tor. Grimly taking
up his sword and spear and donning the woad of
war, he vows that Zyrashana shall pay in blood for
every league she has dared venture in his sacred
lands. Scouts soon return with the information
that the enemy is camped at the base of the
valley, preparing to march with th dawn. The court
shamans forsee rivers of blood and untold carnage,
and great battlespells are woven as Caylen-Tor
leads his vastly outnumbered Northlander warriors
to the misty, moon-swathed e xpanse that is
Blackhelm Vale. Legends say that the blood of many
kings has been spilled on the dark earth of the
valley over the generations, and Caylen-Tor
promises to his grim gods that the earth will once
again drink deep this night. With his army si lent
and brooding beneath the moon, he knows that
whatever the outcome, this night shall see a
legend of war written in blood and the deaths of
men... a legend none shall soon forget...
[The War Testament of Caylen-Tor (On the Night of
the Bloodying of Swords):]
O' grim gods of battle, empower us this night...
Anoint us with the crimson rain, feed our steel
with slaughter... Let every blow be a killing
blow, grant us victory, or a warrior's death.
Come, moon-fogs, Descend to cloak our numbers, the
heady scent of battle beckons, My ash-hafted spear
feels good in my hands, girt 'round with spells
(our flesh gloriously) woad anointed, Ravens
awaiting slaughter soar high above, blood-worms
bloat on red carnage, I'll carve the moon-wheel in
their flesh, as havoc churns the heather!
A swirling mantle of mist-magic swathes us,
powerful spells woven by the fen-witches of the
great mere... Deep night and moon-mist shall be
our allies as we surge into the fray! At my
bidding, the fog clears for a brief moment, and I
gaze down upon the v alley to behold the army of
the Witch-Queen... great tents arrayed upon the
heather, powerful steeds tethered, the light from
countless burning brands illumining the night,
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many warriors standing, weapons in hand... aye,
all sword fodder.
Entwined in war-fogs... Entwined by war-spells...
Blessed in blood as raven-saters, slake the thirst
of steel burning bright, Reap the harvest of
spilled entrails, we'll return with many heads
this night. The death-ravening black fury fills
me, The spatter of hot blood seet on my lips, This
yard of steel sings a deadly song in my grasp!
Cleaving bodies left and right, a head falls with
each swing of my blade, A storm of shafts
screaming form yew-bows, (through their armoured
ranks we shall) carve a path with steel, a
blood-drenched swath!
And the thirst of the earth shall be slaked with
blood at the fields of carnage... A staggering sea
of crimson, a towering mountain of ravaged flesh,
All enraptured by the searing kiss of steel, All
surfeit from supping deep of the grim chalice of
battle...
Brooding gods of the north, display to these
outlander thralls thine ire, Envenom our blades
with the death-kiss of a thousand serpents,
Unfetter the dread war-wolves within us, That
their claws may rend, and their jaws may be
reddened.
The bloodying is at hand! My spear hammers into
the chest of a warrior, and bright blood erupts
from his lips as he falls to the heather. I turn
aside a vicious swordthrust and my own blade
snakes out to cleave the neck of the attacker,
shearing through his veins in a shower of d ark
red. An enemy blade opens my shoulder to the bone,
but I sweep my axe out in a deadly arc, its iron
head rending armour and biting deep into flesh.
Talus Ebonfyre's abdomen yawns open and he
staggers back as his intestines spew forth in a
pulsing mas s. I sunder his head with another blow
as he falls and his skull yields to spill its
steaming contents to the earth. As I watch, a
writhing, shadowy form rises from the smitten
corpse of the Witch-Queen's warlord and flees
howling into the night... I vau lt to the saddle
of a riderless black war-horse and seize the
banner of Mytos-K'unn... for every one of us that
has fallen, we have taken five of the enemy
screaming with us... the battle is ours!
Bright moon, gleam o'er moor and heather, wood and
vale, deep fen and lake, Grim mountains crowned
with snows, great rings of stones, black 'neath
the stars, The storms extol our ancient glory,
great mounds feed us, power from the sacred earth.
With faith and steel we walk our shadowed paths,
our blood runs as fire, swords blessed by sorcery.
Wolves of the north, raise thine steel to the
skies, revel in the pride of your wounds, Let our
victory-song ride the winds of this blood-gorged
eve, For on this night of red swords we have
wrought a legend, Forged in the fires of our rage,
and tempered with the spilled blood of the
slain...
O' grim gods of battle, empower us this night and
always, Anoint us with the crimson rain, forever
feed our steel with slaughter... Let every blow be
a killing blow, grant us eternal victory, 'til we
die a warrior's death.
And so did Caylen-Tor turn the armies of Mytos
K'unn back from the frontiers of his northern
kingdom. Those enemy soldiers who fled the field
as the mist lifted and their banner fell, are
hunted down and brought to their knees before the
king. Summoning a surviving warrior Mytos K'unn,
Caylen-Tor gives unto him two gifts with which to
return to his queen; one is the fallen, sundered
banner of Mytos K'unn, the other is the cloven
head of Talus Ebonfyre. The king's words ring out
over the blood-drenched m oor: "Take this
message back to your queen... if ever again she
deigns to strike against my people, the slaughter
this night will seem as naught compared to the
havoc I shall visit upon her then." When news
of the defeat and the fearsome message of Cayle
n-Tor reached Mytos K'unn, Zyrashana's spells of
regal dominance waned, and her many courtiers and
councillors, liberated from the imposition of
subservience, plotted against their queen, 'til
soon she was driven from the great royal palace by
her own el ite guard, her throne seized by an
ambitious baron who had won the favour of the
nobles and mages of the realm. Evading
inprisonment and surviving only by her mastery of
spellcraft, Zyrashana fled to the satrapies of the
east, and nothing more was seen or heard of her
for some considerable time...
[Lyrics: Byron]
[Music: Jonny Maudling] |
Ver esta canción en diferentes idiomas (traducción automática) Música de "Bal-Sagoth" de la Transferencia directa
Complimentary "To Dethrone the Witch-Queen of Mytos K'unn (the
Legend of the Battle of Blackhelm Vale)" Ringtone |
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