Elder Scroll series 1. Orphan Lord Wulfheart

AN: This poem is styled in a derivative of the Eddic formula, just like the great epic Beowulf. I originally planned it to be a Lore piece for my Blackreach Chronicles series, but they have taken a long pause. I'm currently directing my focus to this.

Notice: For ease of memorization and emphasis, important verses rhyme, but eddic is primarily forged with alliterative verse. If you keep reading, you'll find the pattern.

I Hope you all enjoy it! Please read and review; constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!

* * *

><p><span>The Blackreach Edda<span>

"_Into the Deep_"

The_ deep dwelt forgotten  
>Of dwarves and their hammers<em>

_But clankings and clickings,  
>So clever, remained<em>

_And wrought in their wreaking  
>Of wrathful constructions,<em>

_Ferociously fearsome,  
>The Falmer now reigned<em>

* * *

><p><em>Chittered they so chillingly,<br>In Chitin of Chaurus_

_As blinded and blemished  
>As bleached in the skin<em>

_Betrayed in the bastions,  
>As beasts, now had wandered<em>

_These goblins, these gremlins,  
>Are graceful no more<em>

* * *

><p><em>In a most freezing Frostfall,<br>Frontier of the Pale,_

_A cluster of clansmen  
>Had cleared through caves cloven<em>

_Once banished, abandoned  
>But bound to be tread<em>

_Where cauldrons and coffins,  
>Gold coins by the dozen,<em>

_Had hailed through the hallows,  
>'The Halls of the Dead'<em>

* * *

><p><em>The droppings of Draugr<br>Had drawn yet the soldiers_

_Whose opals, opalescent,  
>Unopened to Fate<em>

_And swords known for swaying,  
>For swinging, had bitten<em>

_Had pierced through the peaceful,_  
><em>Now purged through their ends<em>

* * *

><p><em>Yet fires had followed<br>Through the flames of their hearts_

_And blown through their blades,  
>Unblemished of fear<em>

_Like tempest their tempers  
>Of tumult ne'er bred<em>

_Had bloodied their blades,  
>Then, and blazed through 'the Dead"!<em>

* * *

><p><em>The monsters, out-mettled,<br>Had met their last ends_

_Their chambers once cherished  
>Now churlish towards life<em>

_Now hollow lay the halls  
>No horrors left waiting<em>

_Spare the posts of Nord puzzles,  
>Imperiled most preciously,<em>

_And the most weaned of warrior's-  
>Named Wulfheart- bone plating<em>

* * *

><p><em>So ornery an orc<br>Stood "Orphan Lord" Wulfheart  
>The slayer of fathers and mothers alike<em>

_For troubled with treason,  
>and trained by Nord parents<br>Forgotten by family left fending in dikes_

_This churlish of churls,  
>A child by war,<br>Of War, and of warriors he'd wager his life_

_A legion of leaders  
>Had lust for his fury<br>His ferocity, the fortunes it brought through his strife_

* * *

><p><em>The trinkets of troll bones,<br>Entrenched through his steel,_

_Let known to his knights how  
>They needed his power <em>

_The doors then dawned open,  
>And daring of men,<em>

_The Orphan Lord ordered  
>The Oracle to-hour:<em>

_"Listen now, brave Wulfheart, brave leader of brazen,  
>Within these dark walls, you shan't hark your haven<br>Ol Mora has mentioned these moors in my sleep:  
>'Don't enter nor encroach an inch of the Deep'. "<em>


	2. Iorlund's Lament

AN: This one took a long time to put out due to time constraints. I'm sorry it took so long to get it to you. In the case your discerning eyes do not notice by the end of the chapter, I've been constructing this poem so far in a cyclical form with minor variations from chapter to chapter. These deviations are indeed deliberate, so feel free to debate on their significance and necessity in the reviews.

I hope you all enjoy it! Please read and review; constructive criticism is like Writing Fuel for my brain!

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><p><em>For now his knights weary<br>And wielded by fear_

_The leader then loitered  
><em>_And listened to Fate_

_But plans made, he pleasured,  
>He plotted to pilfer<em>

_Such mystery of ministry_  
><em>Had milked out his hate<em>

* * *

><p><em>He went then so wearily<em>  
><em>In want of temptation,<em>

_The thirst of his theories,_  
><em>To Thirsk, he'd make way<em>

_Greeted by Greyhounds_  
><em>As great as wolves local<em>

_As fierce were they fast,_  
><em>And as fearsome and sound<em>

* * *

><p><em>So bare was their barking,<br>They bay through the night_

_As the mere scent of Meadhalls_  
><em>Filled meetings contrite<em>

_The Solstice, in Solstheim,  
>Had no solace dear<em>

_It snowed as if sneering,  
>Men snipped with wind-sheer<em>

_And rigorous, yes, righteous,  
>This Meadhall was reared.<br>_

_With records of Reiklings  
><em>_Reamed up on Huntspears_

* * *

><p><em>The scent of sweet honey<br>Now swam through cold nostrils,_

_A noise like of nourishment,_  
><em>Those songs sung renown<em>

_Cherishing and cheering,_  
><em>In revelry like children,<em>

_These soldiers of sold-furs  
>Grew soft through oft yet.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Though banished his banter,<em>  
><em>A bane to his efforts,<em>

_This merciless mercenary  
><em>_Sat calm through the mirth  
><em>_  
>Irked and irate<br>__Arose Iorlund the Ice-Axe  
><em>_  
>His words were of worry<br>__They went about as such:_

* * *

><p><em>"Shunned, though, from sharing<br>__My words still ring true  
><em>_To laugh and grow fat is no warrior's true oath_

_For we've lost our bearings,  
>With naught but to do<br>But fight or rest happy, no one can do both _

_Forget, Steeds, my standing  
>Among our ranks, Run!<br>Speed fast with feet sparing, in death we drive droves,_

_The day we stop meandering,  
><em>_We end up no-where  
><em>_As No-body, ignoble, although our lives strove_

_As Like eagles, like sigils!_  
><em>In rights or illegal<em>  
><em>Spare spite-spiraling Evil,<em>  
><em>We're ne'er to fight feeble!"<em>

* * *

><p><em>His insight succinct,<em>  
><em>Sufficient to claim,<br>__  
>To the once-scolding scoundrels,<br>__How scarce stood their flames_

_So Knights were ignited,  
><em>_Straight-kneed though the halls,_

_To the Orphan Lord Orc,  
>Struck ore did their calls!<em>

_"Hear us, Brave Wulfheart, Brave Leader and Brother,  
><em>_The warmth of this Meadhall and milk-drinking smothers!  
><em>_We've dared once to daunt down so near to Death's sleep  
><em>_Let part and be pardoned to pry through the Deep!"_


	3. Fires in the Cold

AN: 3RD CYCLE, RULES BROKEN.

As this poem works in threes, every 3rd cycle, or chapter, will deviate a little from the rules, simply to refresh one's lyrical pallet before a certain climax. Here you'll notice, in the beginning stanzas, the 3 and/or 4th lines can deviate from the typical alliterative pattern. Other than that, I must say thank you for reading so far into this poem! I do hope you're surely interested in the events that unfold... I have a lot planned.

I hope you all enjoy it! Please read and review; it does my heart justice and spurns my own 'flames'!

* * *

><p><em>Crossing un-craven<em>  
><em>Through creeks past Rock-Raven<em>

_They shipped to shores sheering_  
><em>Port Windhelm, shroud white,<em>

_To blacksmiths they bleeded_  
><em>For Septims they needed<em>

_Plethoras then pleaded,_  
><em>They plowed through the night<em>

* * *

><p><em>Armed with an Armored<em>  
><em>Plate, steel-clad to arse<em>

_For Orphan Lord Wulfhart_  
><em>Took none as to farce<em>

_And each marched through Eastmarch_  
><em>As sharp as their swords<em>

_No sorrows to share, then;_  
><em>Too eager their Lord.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Alas and ne'er sneezing<em>  
><em>They sneered through the clearing<em>

_The billowing billions,_  
><em>Best feared by trend,<em>

_Barrowing, harrowing apoc'lyptic winds_

_An instance, the Cold took_  
><em>The cores of the men<em>

* * *

><p><em>So bleary their blisters,<em>  
><em>Their steel chilled their blood<em>

_They trekked through the trenches_  
><em>And treacherous clot-mud<em>

_Still walking, still waking_  
><em>Their wounds would weal yet.<em>

_So freezing, so frozen_  
><em>Their veins in blue debt<em>

* * *

><p><em>Their injured endurance<em>  
><em>Then ended their march!<em>

_And stood they left standing_  
><em>In stances so harsh<em>

_No fires yet followed;_  
><em>They faltered on feet<em>

_Now black-blue with frostbite_  
><em>Oblit'rating all heat<em>

* * *

><p><em>Then Iorlund, Great Ice-Axe,<em>  
><em>Inquisition'd their Fires,<em>  
><em>His voice like a lyre,<em>  
><em>Had driven, inspired:<em>

_"Hear me, brave soldiers, brave stallions renown,_  
><em>Shall we die standing, die passed without sound?<em>  
><em>No longer we sit so that ne'er we may stay<em>  
><em>But now we must gallop, survive the pathways;<em>

_No colt of fine breed would die stooped in his tracks,_  
><em>Remind yourselves, Fire! It's what your souls lack!<em>  
><em>If the warmth of our hearts shall extinguish unrivaled,<em>  
><em>Our strength may be preached of in sonnets and bibles!"<em>

* * *

><p><em>His words gave them worse<em>  
><em>Of a reason than fame,<em>

_To the now-fearless fiefdom_  
><em>That feasts on its Flames!<em>

_Bellators then bellowed,_  
><em>Skins bare to the wind!<em>

_And so then the Cold_  
><em>Could not conquer their ends!<em>

_"Harken, Sir Iorlund, sweet Second of Wulfhart,_  
><em>You've hacked through your status with will forged in word-art<em>  
><em>Once banished, abandoned by us so were you,<em>  
><em>But join you we now do; we owe you this, true.<em>

_So more your speech speckles our hearts with hot blood_

_And now dare we daunt through white snow or clot mud_  
><em>The Halls are in sight, no path we yield other<em>  
><em>Than that of your words that you speak now, Shield-Brother!"<em>


	4. The Reawakening

AN: Thank you all for waiting so long! It really took me long putting this verse out, I nearly forgot all about it! If you're still reading this, thank you very much. I hope its going along well for you. I'll take any suggestions you have if you comment or PM me.

I hope you all enjoy it! Please read and review so that I can bring each chapter to life!

* * *

><p><em>Doth bleed did those demons,<br>__Defenseless, left dented,_

_Blood blacker than the hue_  
><em>Of their skin, blistered blue,<em>

_Slain and let lain  
><em>_Lay the corpses lackluster_

_Awaiting the warriors with_  
><em>Weary woe mustered.<em>

* * *

><p><em>The road was yet reached,<br>__Its rear left unlooked,_

_The fog of their breaths breached_  
><em>Through, breaking with doors<em>

_Clad with cobwebs of capers,  
><em>_Encamped at the hinges_

_Then stranded by strangers,_  
><em>Left adrift as white strings.<em>

* * *

><p><em>The demons, the Draugr,<br>__Twice dead, now had driven_

_Out Death and denounced_  
><em>These adventures, uprisen<em>

_Once more from the meager_  
><em>Trance made known as "death"<em>

_Wielding their weapons,_  
><em>Each worn through and riven,<em>

_Their souls shed no sorrow_  
><em>At the fog-sound of breaths<em>

* * *

><p><em>First through the fir trees, <em>  
><em>And first through the cave<em>

_Ran the Orphan Lord, roaring,  
><em>_His rage gone berserk  
><em>

_And fires had followed!_  
><em>The fur-clad steel troopers<em>

_Had swept through with swords,_  
><em>Bloodied oaths to be sworn.<em>

* * *

><p><em>The monsters, out-mettled, <em>  
><em>Had met their last ends<em>

_Their barrows, still buried,_  
><em>Now barren and bare<em>

_Whizzed through the hall_  
><em>Spelled witchcraft and wizardry<em>

_A 'Mancer of Mannequins,_  
><em>Who middled in death<em>

* * *

><p><em>A Dunmer from Dune,<em>  
><em>In the deserts of Elsweyr<em>

_An elf of an ilk  
><em>_Too rigid for elsewhere_

_Known through the narrows 6_  
><em>As keen in death's knowledge<em>

_In Robes of Raven-_  
><em>Black, robbed from his peers<em>

_A commander of corpses_  
><em>From a most corrupt college<em>

* * *

><p><em>So wise a wizard<br>__Sat Azarik the Ash-Blood  
><em>_The preacher of souls, death, and life all entwined_

_Draining the Draugr_  
><em>Of their peacesleep in the mud<em>  
><em>He rose them once more to fight all unaligned<em>

_This foolish of foolhardy,_  
><em>Trapped in the cave,<em>  
><em>Had waited for subjects of a younger sum,<em>

_For perhaps bands of bandits  
><em>_Could be turned and tamed;  
><em>_Destruction spells ready at mind and at thumb_

* * *

><p><em>The icespells shot idled<em>  
><em>Straight through ancient aisles<em>

_The men had made nothing_  
><em>Of frostbite that maim't<em>

_For their fires, then stronger_  
><em>Than mere fiddling icespells,<em>

_They sought out the sorcerer_  
><em>Outsourced by their strength<em>

_There then they slayed him with blades and fierce brazen_  
><em>And Orphan Lord Wulfheart did not hope for haven<em>  
><em>As pulsing and pulling his craving for entrance,<em>  
><em>The raising and ruling of Death just an instance<em>


End file.

Elder Scroll series, Adventure, Poetry