Incidental Padding

You see, the rangers, they're a scary thing.
Taken from the tales of old.
The sound of their swift arrows' ring,
makes every evil's blood run cold
I'll try to paint this picture well,
As I see it through my own eyes,
It speaks of men who go through hell,
To triumph strong; glory, their prize.

Picture the battle starting to rage,
As they sound the drums of war.
They're like a beast locked in its cage,
Under a flag worth fighting for.
They hear the mighty battle cry,
From the throats of soldiers proud,
And then their arrows start to fly,
Raining down, death's rain from a cloud.

Unit mates they call each other,
As they fight beneath green, black, and gold.
But to each they are like sister and brother,
As they watch the chaos start to unfold.
Their bows fire straight and true through the air,
As heavy thoughts fill each ranger's head.
In the name of all pure, good and fair,
They leave theirs foes lying dead.

You see my friends, just what they are,
They're not the knights that you think of,
Yet enemies run fast and far,
As their arrows rain from above.
Do you wish to know their secret?
You'll have to promise not to tell,
How are they the fiercest I have met?
How can they walk unscathed through hell?

They are united; they cannot fall,
Cause the ideals that they fight for
allow them to stand proud and tall,
Empowering them down to their core.
So when the rangers come for you,
If you are evil you're a goner.
Their way of life that all once knew:
is "Death Before Dishonor."

I've watched the sun rise every morning,

Over mountains, towns, and seas.

It paints a picture for all to witness

Such beauty found with such ease.

I've laid beneath a torrent of darkness,

Gazed deep into the star lit skies,

Wept alone beneath her emptiness,

As I stared into heaven's eyes.

But compared to you that perfect sky,

Is nothing more than child's play,

For the sun and moon fade from sight,

At the start and end of every day

They disappear without a trace,

After they have said goodbyes

But your endless beauty is still there,

Every time I close my eyes.

I viewed an eagle gliding high,

Such grace, since then I have not seen.

It dipped and swooped so swift and agile,

Above the forest top's so green.

I've stood on mountains higher still,

Looking out as far as the eye could see.

Gazing over land so beautiful,

That it took my breath away from me.

But that little bird is nothing,

It's just like every other of its kind.

Not special like you are to me,

By you it's beauty is out shined

And those mountains they took climbing

Just to catch a glimpse of pure and sweet

But when I'm looking deep into your eyes,

The mountain views are simply beat.

I couldn't find my muse tonight,

until thoughts of you found me.

Visions of sweet perfection,

Are all that I could see.

You probably will dismiss this,

I dont think you'll see what I mean,

But I thought that I'd still let you know,

That you are my gypsy queen.

In feinting slight and quickest step,

An enemy's challenge deftly met.

With piercing arrow or slicing sword,

Bravely facing the advancing horde,

Having no hesitation or fear of demise,

His focus solely on winning his prize.

The death he deals with laughing jest,

A call to others to bring their best.

He delights in opponents, worthy and true

From the rising sun til day is through.

Then to the fire and songs of his feats

Through pale blue eyes I gaze on to thee,
Captivated by purely sweet grace.
A web weaved so deep in intricacy,
A Bastille keeping me within this place.

Chains of wasted hope bar my broken heart.
My tear stained soul splayed out onto the floor,
Breaking each moment that we are apart.
Longing to be touched, but alone once more.

Until day breaks and darkness fin'ly ends.
A superficial ray of sun shines through.
Content to live a lie and just pretend,
That all is well alone here without you.

I’ll bare my mask’s trouble all on my own.
Never will my life’s great burden be shown.

We Fight, we live, we die,
our scars remind us we are still alive,
we cover the waters in blood,
and decorate the land in red,
we sacrifice,
we proudly die,
besides thos we fight who are our allies.

We fight, we live, we die,
this is the dagorhir life,
grab your sword, dagger or bow,
come kill fast or slow.

Cover yourself in paint,
Grey, Green, Black,
whatever you choose,
then Battle On,
scream for it,
and bleed for it.

Die for Honor.
Die for Glory.
Or Suicide.
Die and continue to fight,
this is the way of the dagohir life,
and we live and breath,
this chosen death of blood red victory.

(c) Elysha D. Waggoner 

They see each other across the field,

Feelings are sparked and neither can yield,

To the pull of fate,

It opens a gate,

That holds back a flood of emotions,

As big and deep as the ocean.

By Sirilay
From Rag XXI Bardic

They see her walking through the town,

The sun reflecting off her eyes,

Upon her head, a golden crown

Of light that fills the evening skies.

from the war journal of Milo Baines...

One of the more dangerous daemons, seen wherever the fighting is thickest, dragging his chain of broken blades take from the worthiest of his defeated foes...The Apollyon is not one to worship, for his Temple is the skirmish line... where shield and sword meet flesh, where the air is foul with blood and sweat and catching his attention means you are about to die... for those that do face an Apollyon and live, eternal glory is yours, your name will be spoken for a thousand years as The Apollyon waits for another to challenge... and another, and another, and another...

A year had passed since Askarus and Sallos had crossed swords.  The wounds of many battles had healed, and Askarus finally felt at peace.  Sitting upon the soft grass which overlooked the fields of wheat below, Askarus slowly smoked his pipe as his wife Cyress skipped around in the fields.  This past year with her had been like none other, and Askarus felt a chill run up his back as he thought of her

Cyress was a beautiful gypsy; her dark hair reflected the sunshine as she ran through the fields.  Her eyes were deep and pacific, as if all the answers to the mysteries of this life were somehow locked away behind them. This woman had done something nobody else had.  She had found the one weakness of Askarus, the protector of mankind.  Cyress had been the only person Askarus has let his guard down for.  Only she could rest her hands upon him, and not feel the strain of muscles, ready to pounce.  This woman was like no other, she was his true love.

Over the mountains, far and wide,

Over the river and the tide,

Through the valleys and through the shire,

Ever onward towards home.

Many a sight I there did see,

Rare be the person believing me.

Dragons of fire, goblins flesh and bone,

Men and elves feasting on their thrones.

Wonderful laddies did I there meet,

Charming of words and light of feet,

No match for looks in all the dell.

Why can't I find lads that good here, as well?

The days had been growing darker around Lenore.  Askarus was sitting on Cyress's roof smoking a pipe full of tobacco, easing his nerves.  As he laid his head back against the hay roof, his mind wandered to another time and place.  Askarus found himself in a giant wheat field stretching for miles.  Across the field, Askarus could see two figures walking on top of the wheat as if floating.  Moving closer and gripping his katana, Askarus noticed that the two were his parents, now long dead.  Creeping toward them, Askarus spoke softly.

"I'm dreaming..." he said to them as they continued to stare off into the sky.  "What does all this mean?"   Suddenly, Askarus's father began to speak, but not in his voice.  It was the voice of the old man. 

"You are not dreaming protector.  This is the fields of AlDur in which you must find that which you will need most to defeat Lord Salos and end the war."  Askarus looked around as the wheat began to rustle.  His parents disappeared as Askarus spun around, swinging his sword low to the ground.  From under the wheat, a series of animal screams echoed in his ears as four dog sized spiders cracked open and died at his feet.

It was late December and Askarus lay in a deep sleep.  Several months had passed since the war with the hates, and Askarus had constructed crude shelter and a small harvest deep in the woods near the village of Lenore.  He had been working odd jobs for the people of the village, earning a bit of money to repair his armor and blades.  But each night he would lie awake thinking about the woman named Cyress, the gypsy that he had encountered the day of his arrival.  She was beautiful; the deepest eyes, an enchanting smile and the most amazing body.  Nothing could take his mind off of her as she haunted his dreams each and every night.

On this particular evening, Askarus was ripped out of his deep slumber to a blinding flash.  When the light dimmed, Askarus found himself in The Corridoio dei guerrieri, wrapped in his sheets on the floor of the great hall.  From behind him, the old man appeared, startling Askarus as he spoke;

"My son, the time has come once again for you to help those who need it most."

I was standing under the tree alone, watching the ground shake as though it was inside a child's plaything. Pebbles rattled against the drought-blasted soil, and I smiled to see the pale shoots wither and turn brown before me. Leaves came down in great clots like hail, and I remained there, dying slowly on the inside, as the tree died on the outside, so much faster...

On the way back from Grantchester,
I had much to think about,
With the road winding on before me,
Ruts worn into the countryside
By countless wagons and other travelers having passed
Through this same, dreary grey landscape,
The evening settling down about me, around me,
Like the cloak draped over my shoulders
That hides the world from me-that I
Don't know exists save for seeing it-

In the beginning there was no hate, only happiness.  Each family raised their children well and there was no sorrow or suffering.  This was the way for hundreds of years, but there can be no good without evil, even if that evil has not yet shown itself. 

Jersola was a small time merchant in the town of Gubio.  He didn’t make much, but his family got by.  His only child, Askarus was but nine years old at this time.  He was young, energetic and eager to explore the world around him.  Jersola knew that Gubio was safe, but nobody, including him knew what kind of evil lurked in the shadows. 

Reigha sat in the utter darkness waiting for the faintest movement. She had been posted outside the noblewoman’s mansion for three nights now. Thus far she had been undetected, even by the mages. She was lucky enough that she naturally blended with the environment. Her physical attributes had nothing to do with it. Her pale skin and ice blue eyes would have given her away almost immediately in her dark surroundings if there weren’t something special about her.

A wicked wind blows through the lands,

Hatred peers onto the plains.

The sky despairs with the sights it bears,

And dark clouds cannot cover the shame.