Tales of the Wyrm, Volume 1

by D. Alexander Neill

I sing of a hero;

  A hero iron-gray, iron-hard

  Ironfist, a man, a man of great (spirit/destiny), a warrior

  Ironfist, a freeman, a (war)lord of Ekhan

  A child of Esu, a (spiritual son/true descendant) of Esu

  Ironfist, a son of giants,

  and also a friend and a brother to me.

  I sing of a battle, a (hard fight/slaughter), a clash of spears;

  Of glory won in battle, of wounds given by the long sword.

  A tall man, sword-bearer, bearer of honour

  Who came from the south, steel-coated, steel-guarded

  Bearer of a glaive giant-forged

  And a heart forged by Esu as though in the snows

  Of the Northlands he never saw.

  In the depths of the Deeprealm,

  At the Gates of the Barrow of Bowrnléoch,

  The forces of darkness assembled; in shadow

  They schemed the demise of the

  Children of Lagu.

  The hammer-falls silenced; the forge-fires failed

  Not for lack of (fire/fuel), but lack of (fire/heart),

  Did the Children of Lagu tremble, for the first time,

  In darkness.

  Then out from the shadow sprang shadow eternal

  Cold shadows; hell-shadows; (spirit)shadows of evil

  Blood spilled on the stone, and all hands

  Loosed hammers, loosed darts

  Upon the fell foemen.

  First to fall was Ulfrican, Forgemaster,

  (Spiritual son/true descendant) of Barraj, axe-wielder

  Whose hands blessed the children;

  Off were his hands hewn, and after (crowned/adorned)

  The accursed brow of the king of the darkness.

  Forth sprang Ven Porwenna, bright light of Harad

  Long laboured she in the dark depths of the Underfolk

  Tending the aged; with bright light and (invocation/magic)

  She fell on dark foemen, and so fell in turn,

  And pillowed her fair head on a mountain of (gutted corpses/fallen foes)

  And Ygrak, (wild warrior/berserker) of Kelva fell there beside her

  Avenged and avenging the death of his beloved,

  His great hands crushing the throats of the enemy,

  His great axe sinking and drinking deep,

  He swam to the next world and his heart’s desire

  Through a river of heart’s-blood.

  At the last stood Ironfist, spirit-son of Esu,

  Bright sword carrying the light

  of Breadan into the depths of the earth.

  Before the Pillars of Barraj

  And the Throne of the Deeprealm

  He strove with the Spellweaver,

  Dark-skinned and white-haired, fell of hand

  Wielding a white staff.

  And from him, Ironfist struck hand and arm,

  And clove his skull open;

  And the bone-white staff, the white staff of nightmares,

  Fell to the stone; a trophy of battle

  To lie cherished by the Underfolk, beside the cleft skull

  Of Spellweaver the Thrice-cursed.

  But Ironfist fell also, wounded with many wounds; and him they bore up

  To a couch of fine furs, the bed of a hero,

  And hot fires, and ice-cold mead, and many songs

  To honour his iron with all of the (honours accorded by/praises due the saviour of)

  the folk of the Stonedark.

  Ironfist left them

  Alone in the Deeprealm, bearing with him

  Naught but scars and thanks.

  Remembered in song and story so long as the darkness lasts

  For courage and tales outlive the living

  Borne down the long tale of years.

  Thus the brave live forever, the tale of their deeds sung

  With the banking of fires and broaching of (ale)casks

  And so it will be in the Deeprealm

  Until at the end the world breaks,

  And Lagu banks the fires of heaven one last time,

  And Barraj calls back his own,

  To fight the great fight of world’s gloaming.

  ♦♦♦

  Gwen’s Notes

  According to Dwarven legend, the souls of the Dwarves are forged individually by Barraj, and are only on loan. When Anuru is broken at the last by Ana and Uru in preparation for the final battle between the Powers, Barraj will call home the souls of all Dwarves, living and dead, to fight at his side against the Uruqua. Dwarves who were diligent and courageous in life will have the honour of standing at the forefront of the Legions of Barraj; and their names will be written in the stars and the stones of other worlds, there to live forever.

  I actually heard Harwéac Hargóin perform this at a tavern in Ganesford. He was pretty old, but still a dab hand with the tambours. It sounds a lot better in the original Dweorgaspræc. Hell, it would almost have to, am I right?