Post by malek on Oct 20, 2007 7:38:18 GMT -5
A story of the first days of winter from a tribal elder in the Northern Steppes as chronicled in my journal. I attempted to preserve the accent as best I could account:
Gather 'round th' fire light kin an' friend, an' listen ye this tale o' th' peoples o' th' Steppes, an' o' seasons an' o' ages past, as e'en now th' skies o' th' South depict th' tale I tell ye. Aye, as th' sun grows short an' th' moon grows long, an' we peoples prepare fer th' stark and forsaken colds tha' shall beset th' Northr'n Steppe lands; as we travel quickly along th' small an' scarce wood tha' lie scatter'd 'bout with colorful canopies above us, an' trek 'long th' tracks o' wolf t' find where they be huntin' i' hope t' find th' same game t' feed us through these darker time; indeed, as we trek intah th' mountainous regions 'long th' distant reaches o' th' landscape t' take down Yak fer feast an' shelterin' mantle against th' icy colds t' come; as all these thing be passin' now, so too they did long ago as our ancestors prepared fer the scarce fasts o' th' winter months.
Aye, in these winters where e'en th' warm springs fill with ice an' barely e'en a fish can be found; an' th' mountains become too trecherous t' climb in order t' find a meal; an' th' wood fill with darkness an' windy quiets void o' beast an' void o' any berried bush; in these times now an' in these times many moons passed, we survive upon th' season now tha' be upon us, th' season o' the Great Hunt!
Th' tale o' this season I tell tho' be from long ago, ere before e'en the First People come t' th' Steppe, our ancestors told this tale when this story first begun an' passed it down since. This tale be o' th' great Swordsman o' th' Sky who hunted down an' fought against th' powerful dragon o' th' Dark Lord, Glaurung.
Turambar, strong an' brave be he, decided t' lay a snare fer th' mighty Dragon as he crossed th' cavernous Cabed-en-Aras. He planned did he t' stab th' Beast from beneath. Took with him he did two companions with him: Dorlas an' Hunthor. Alas, tho' Dorlas grew cowardly an' deserted they two, fer a man o' great valor he were not. Alon' th' way ol' Hunthor, tho' brave an' strong, were slain by Orcish stone. But nae this did not stop Great Turambar, who lay his trap an' did wound tha' vile and vicious beast Glaurung with his legendarious sword Gurthang!
Alas again tho' brave Turambar were poinson'd by th' sting o' th' Dragon's very viscera which ooz'd forth from th' gapin' wound which pierced th' dyin' Dragon, an' th' great Swordsman he did fell in a swoon. Now come Níenor, who had been enchant'd by th' Beast's foul spell not knowin' who she were, not knowin' she be his kin, were in search for here betroth'd, none other than th' Mighty Hunter. In a last act o' hatred vile, Glaurung with his final breath undid his spell, an' she remembered who she were! How tragic were this Maid o' Tear, realised she that Turambar, her love, her betrothed, be her brother.
In horror, Nienor cast herself o'er th' mountain an' into the river Taeglin where she died. But here this tragic tale o' th' Great Hunt ends not.
Brandir, who loved Nienor so sweetly, witnessed th' whole event, and when Turambar awoke, he told him what had happened. Th' Mighty Hunter, Slayer o' th' Dragon, believed it not, an' in pure wrath upon this fate, he smote th' defenceless Brandir an' ran in madness toward Finduilas's grave. There he were met by another who proved th' words of Brandir.
Strikin' with pure grief o'er this tragic end, th' death o' his beloved, who were in truth his sister, the Swordsman return'd in haste to Cabed-en-Aras an' did cast hisself on th' point o' his own mighty Gurthang.
Th' tragic tale were set in th' mighty heavens above, to play out these very nights in' the sky:
Th' Swordsman o' th' Sky did come, sheath upon his hip;
He chases down th' Dragon Lord with Gurthang's mighty tip;
An' at his heal come bright and tragic Nienor after he,
That be her lover an' her brother, doubly cursed they be;
Above it all we see Brandir, th' witness to this woe,
An' before th' Dragon, slain by rock, is Hunthor an' his bow
An' as th' Winter cometh an' this scene begins t' wane,
Th' Maid o' Tears an' Swordsman are united once again
T' share once more their tragic fate as now th' sun do raise
They plunge t' death o'er mountain peak until th' Last o' Days!
Gather 'round th' fire light kin an' friend, an' listen ye this tale o' th' peoples o' th' Steppes, an' o' seasons an' o' ages past, as e'en now th' skies o' th' South depict th' tale I tell ye. Aye, as th' sun grows short an' th' moon grows long, an' we peoples prepare fer th' stark and forsaken colds tha' shall beset th' Northr'n Steppe lands; as we travel quickly along th' small an' scarce wood tha' lie scatter'd 'bout with colorful canopies above us, an' trek 'long th' tracks o' wolf t' find where they be huntin' i' hope t' find th' same game t' feed us through these darker time; indeed, as we trek intah th' mountainous regions 'long th' distant reaches o' th' landscape t' take down Yak fer feast an' shelterin' mantle against th' icy colds t' come; as all these thing be passin' now, so too they did long ago as our ancestors prepared fer the scarce fasts o' th' winter months.
Aye, in these winters where e'en th' warm springs fill with ice an' barely e'en a fish can be found; an' th' mountains become too trecherous t' climb in order t' find a meal; an' th' wood fill with darkness an' windy quiets void o' beast an' void o' any berried bush; in these times now an' in these times many moons passed, we survive upon th' season now tha' be upon us, th' season o' the Great Hunt!
Th' tale o' this season I tell tho' be from long ago, ere before e'en the First People come t' th' Steppe, our ancestors told this tale when this story first begun an' passed it down since. This tale be o' th' great Swordsman o' th' Sky who hunted down an' fought against th' powerful dragon o' th' Dark Lord, Glaurung.
Turambar, strong an' brave be he, decided t' lay a snare fer th' mighty Dragon as he crossed th' cavernous Cabed-en-Aras. He planned did he t' stab th' Beast from beneath. Took with him he did two companions with him: Dorlas an' Hunthor. Alas, tho' Dorlas grew cowardly an' deserted they two, fer a man o' great valor he were not. Alon' th' way ol' Hunthor, tho' brave an' strong, were slain by Orcish stone. But nae this did not stop Great Turambar, who lay his trap an' did wound tha' vile and vicious beast Glaurung with his legendarious sword Gurthang!
Alas again tho' brave Turambar were poinson'd by th' sting o' th' Dragon's very viscera which ooz'd forth from th' gapin' wound which pierced th' dyin' Dragon, an' th' great Swordsman he did fell in a swoon. Now come Níenor, who had been enchant'd by th' Beast's foul spell not knowin' who she were, not knowin' she be his kin, were in search for here betroth'd, none other than th' Mighty Hunter. In a last act o' hatred vile, Glaurung with his final breath undid his spell, an' she remembered who she were! How tragic were this Maid o' Tear, realised she that Turambar, her love, her betrothed, be her brother.
In horror, Nienor cast herself o'er th' mountain an' into the river Taeglin where she died. But here this tragic tale o' th' Great Hunt ends not.
Brandir, who loved Nienor so sweetly, witnessed th' whole event, and when Turambar awoke, he told him what had happened. Th' Mighty Hunter, Slayer o' th' Dragon, believed it not, an' in pure wrath upon this fate, he smote th' defenceless Brandir an' ran in madness toward Finduilas's grave. There he were met by another who proved th' words of Brandir.
Strikin' with pure grief o'er this tragic end, th' death o' his beloved, who were in truth his sister, the Swordsman return'd in haste to Cabed-en-Aras an' did cast hisself on th' point o' his own mighty Gurthang.
Th' tragic tale were set in th' mighty heavens above, to play out these very nights in' the sky:
Th' Swordsman o' th' Sky did come, sheath upon his hip;
He chases down th' Dragon Lord with Gurthang's mighty tip;
An' at his heal come bright and tragic Nienor after he,
That be her lover an' her brother, doubly cursed they be;
Above it all we see Brandir, th' witness to this woe,
An' before th' Dragon, slain by rock, is Hunthor an' his bow
An' as th' Winter cometh an' this scene begins t' wane,
Th' Maid o' Tears an' Swordsman are united once again
T' share once more their tragic fate as now th' sun do raise
They plunge t' death o'er mountain peak until th' Last o' Days!