A FLYTING

for Balthazar, his minions, and all other enemies of the peace of Valorn


Curs and cowards, crawling creatures
low and loathesome, lurking, sneaking,
backbiting scoundrels, scurrilous dregs
found in foul places: feebly you threaten,
mewling in shadows, menace the weak,
the young and helpless. Who would not scorn you?
Rats in sewers skulk more bravely;
the soul leaches stand forth with honor
as worthier foes, those worms, than you,
and the dead in the dark disdain your sword.


Topaz

A certain growing trend in Valorn lately has inspired me to recount a true story ...

Tune: Trelawney's Army

The noble Caer Laleldan is the castle of the King,
with tapestries and marble floors and every worthy thing.
It rose up shining from the lake, and on the shore it stands
to show the power of the gods that watch above these lands.

A man came to the castle once (and so begins my tale),
who may have been a little dim, or else too fond of ale.
He walked into the throne room of that castle made of stone,
and swaggered up the walkway and he sat upon the throne.

Now let the word go out today, to all both near and far,
from lowliest initiate right up to Balthazar,
that if you scorn the royal throne or disrespect the Crown,
as sure as Ben has made the world, the gods will strike you down.

His friends were somewhat smarter, and they said to him "Stand up!"
But he just leaned back on the throne, and called out, "Fill my cup!
And if you don't bow down to me, then that will surely show
that you are faithless traitors and should to the dungeon go."

And then there came an Iron Knight, who said "I do advise
that from the throne of Valorn you should very quickly rise."
At that he started to his feet, but very slow indeed;
a turtle or a snail could make a better turn of speed.

Now let the word go out today, to all both near and far,
from lowliest initiate right up to Balthazar,
that if you scorn the royal throne or disrespect the Crown,
as sure as Cory moves the world, the gods will strike you down.

He stood before the royal throne, and still no shame confessed,
but laughed at those who warned him, and took it for a jest,
until amid his laughter his face turned pale and white:
he felt the judgment of the gods, that struck him with a blight.

Now you may think that now he saw the error of his ways,
and was a wise adventurer through all his future days,
but still he claimed he'd done no wrong, in words both rude and rash:
and lightning came to strike him down, and burned him to an ash.

So let the word go out today, to all both near and far,
from lowliest initiate right up to Balthazar,
that if you scorn the royal throne or disrespect the Crown,
the gods who guard the royal line will surely strike you down.