Thursday, March 5
Mirator, the Great Bard -- The Fall of
Midgaard
In remembrance of my dwarven youth, the
white-blue banners
of Midgaard swarmed in from the Northern Plains,
Proud and numerous, they slaughtered all the
mishaps of nature,
And drenched the flames of many fires.
As the maggots festered in the corpses of
the Evil One's orcs,
The humans were spreading peace and power
across the land,
Bringing in a new era of unity.
Choosing the first king since the elven lords,
The army of white-blue polebearers marched
across the Northern Plains,
For the continent was free from pressing evil,
Heading back to Midgaard, to build a king's
castle.
The years and ages journeyed on, and the Evil
One did not lay dormat,
But chose a new strategy:
Strengthen the mountains and infest the land,
Leave alone the king in his castle.
With all threat aside the kingdom had dwindled,
It's great army useless and cumbersome,
It's location cramped and becoming more dangerous.
The mortals were the first to turn from Midgaard,
And Mel'anor was deemed their capital.
And so the king sat about his decaying walls,
The gods no longer protected his sanctuaries,
the ravages of time had overtaken the city.
Monsters arose on the outskirts of town,
And inside the city, children starved and
died.
And the king sat in his castle, alone.
Now the citywalls are fragmented,
And where the urchins begged travelers for
food,
There now lays only bones,
In Mel'anor the adventurers learned the product
of their dissertion too late.
And huddled over the bones of beggar children,
The mortals wailed.
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