greumach

Sidhe Song Brighter than a thousand suns they rise Cliffs on cliffs, white, scintillant and silent Cold, ancient walls reaching to the skies; Below, green glens wherein the rivers run And ancient trees and deep still seas And stone engirdled fields under a golden sun. Our ancient home, the land that gives us birth, Wherein we dance and sing and fight, our swords they ring We laugh and cry and in the end to earth Return. All gone in time and buried in the deep Beyond the measure of the passing years, beyond our tears Remembered only when we dream in sleep.

The Lady and the Bandit  - a folk song To the Lady spoke the bandit bold "I beg you give me all your gold; But failing that you could not miss The loan to me of just one kiss." The Lady took him at his word For she was captive of his sword. As gold or jewels had she lack Unless of cloth upon her back, She offered him a chaste small peck And put her arms around his neck. The bandit grinning ear to ear Spoke words she did not wish to hear; "My Lady, when a kiss I said, In truth I meant your legs to spread; See, in the Greenwood you should ken For company I've only men, Which means, my Lady, nights I freeze For want of passio

Sir Isambard or Isambard and Maeve - A folk song All in the Greenwood early, a Knight was riding by The shadows were around him, the sun scarce in the sky. The Knight was brave and reckless, a mighty man was he Of many fights the victor, to none he bent his knee, Save just his Duke, his Master and often times to Torm In battle undefeated, in ambuscade and storm. His plumes were brightly crimson, his armour patterned gold, His broadsword was enchanted, but alas the Knight was old. His strength was daily failing, his eye no longer clear, His wars had cost him vastly, his prospects they were drear. No matter his ambition no king

The Harlot of Suzail (an army ditty) In Suzail town there lived a girl Her hair was black without a curl. Her lips were red as wine can be Oh how that girl enchanted me. Her eyes were blue as summer skies Her breasts were cause of many sighs, In every feature beauty rare That made the whole of Cormyr stare. When asking money, she said more You see that beauty was a whore. Oh no my friends do not mistake My words, or for an insult take; Of all the harlots she was best When naked or when fully dressed. A wonder when in bed she pranced A beauty in the plas she danced. A singing voice clear as a trumpet An artful, bold and skil

The Lucky Squire -- popular military ditty Oh I was young and foolish A Lady said to me Come boldly to my chamber, My husband is at sea. We went up to her chamber, We made the bed springs dance; So massive my excitement, My organ like a lance. Her passion matched my passion All night till break of day. We fell asleep at dawning And in her arms I lay. Imagine friend my horror When later I awoke To see inside the chamber An armoured angry bloke. For truth to tell, my hearer, The Lady told no truth; That I believed the wanton A product was of youth. And if her man believed her I couldn't tell this tale, Because she said I

The Mistaken Suitor Sirana the fair, in the bloom of her youth, Bad Sir Morchant the Knight of his love to give proof. But my friend see the proof was not quite as you think, Neither visit to cleric nor parchment and ink. Though the girl in her years had not reached seventeen Many men had she known and the quine was not green. In her village the cleric, the merchant and mage Sirana had tumbled, in spite of her age. So no innocent she, but the Knight didn't know The girl was not virgin, no, that was her beau. Sir Morchant, the Paladin, so totally pure Of Sirana's desires was not utterly sure. True, in reading his Rule he was not a

Shadows of the Forest See now; a bar room, just like a thousand others from the Sea of Ice to the Southern Deserts. A low ceiling with heavy beams, stained black by two hundred years of wood and tobacco smoke. Battered tables, wheelbacked chairs and settles all of age darkened oak filled the floor. To the left a bar, backed by barrels of ale, beer and wine; pewter tankards hanging in a rack. Over the ancient fireplace opposite hung a stuffed stag's head which had seen better days, and on the walls old stage wagon timetables, a number of rusting swords and axes and several indifferent and flaking paintings. The light of the dying sun spilt go

Shadows of the Forest (part II) The Sergeant was on his way to the Flying Pig for dinner when half across the muddy market square a voice hailed him. 'You!' Imperious, foreign and female 'do you know where I can find Felice the Blue?' He turned, his interrogator was sitting astride a blue roan and she wasn't alone; more than a dozen other riders were behind her, armoured riders in ankheg shell plate mail and heavy clothes of dark green. Colgrim knew who she was, he didn't need her to remove her helmet; Selva of Cormyr, the Great Druid of the Forest's personal assassin and lieutenant. Things were going from bad to worse. 'I do, Rever

Shadows of the Forest (part III) They gathered in the temple of Torm, the only building in the town big enough to hold the Officers' council; the inn had provided three trestle tables to hold the maps and they were all gathered around the tables, the Druids in their Ankheg plate, Paladins in mithral plate, Dwarves in scale mail, Foresters and posse members in studded leather and chain mail, the magic users and seniors in their robes of leather and silk. Selva, the Assassin-Druid, her green eyes bleak, tapped a map with a beringed forefinger. 'We're told they were seen here at the Fords of Drasta by en Elven patrol about two weeks after

Shadows of the Forest (part IV) The shadows of the forest floor were deep and the sounds of the horses' hooves were muffled by centuries of leaf mould. The trees seemed even to swallow up the jingling and clank of harness and armour. Now and again the racket of a rising pheasant would break the stillness or they would reach a clearing, where bathed in golden sunlight they would crash through bracken or secondary growth. The green twilight of the ancient forest was depressing and the silence sinister. And all the time they could feel watching eyes, not just those of squirrels or the other woodland wildlife either. At times a rider would catc