HERESIARH - Dragons Of War

Horns Of War

In a silent morning haze, 
under desolate trees of old loom scattered shelters of some infantry troops. 
Dawn burns east as every morning 
yet some unknown tension freezes the air 
and the warriors grow wary in spirit and heart...

Suddenly clouds of dust rise above the pale horizon 
and the watchmen spring to their feet. 
Sound of horns stirs up a warcry 
and the host lines up for attack!

Horns of war pierce the air
Warriors clad in shining mail 
Swords and leather, fire and steel
Clash of iron, grim whet spears

Into the battlestorm... 
the heads of the fallen are shattered under hoofs and chariot wheels, 
blades cut man by man and the soil is soaked in blood 
thousands of slaves are working afield, 
reaping the harvest of death...

Yet as the dark draws night
And dusk falls on the menacing peace
White ghosts of war-men long reapen here
Faces of horror and dread and of throe
Then roam among the countless bodies
Hewn upon the battlefield

Oh, drive away the carrion 
And bury your peers 
And then mourn as you can
And rejoice as you dare to 
Until the horns of war sound again
This is a warrior's destiny
To solemnly loaf
And await the sound of the horns...

The Cruel Bard

This is the lay of the cruel bard
He wrote it himself in his perilous youth
And nobody knows and no other lay tells
If fate finally gave him a lesson or no

He was a bard as anyone else yet nature had praised him a gift of its worth 
an irresistible beauty
and charm of the lords, 
which he did not hesitate to use for his own good

Pleasure he seeked and the inevitable pain, 
which eventually scorched his soul beyond recognition
so that it was never completely healed 
unless for the moments when he was alone with the splendour of nature 
and his love for the sky

Long roads did he take and many a path 
and lots of young girls fainted away to his enthralling songs and caressing lips. 
Yet his heart could not find any place for a rest...

(Oh) The cruel bard 
He was
And his lays were fair
As dew in the grass
Yet his heart was of stone...

Thousands of burnt villages he left behind
And thousands of hearts unmended
Wherever he went he brought pleasure, then woe
To daughters and mothers and envious men

He knew it all very well, the cruel bard 
But, hell, he had nothing at all to disown 
So he just grinned as the devil himself
And all the women around lost their pride

Although he sometimes did try to unlock his heart
Hid under strong chest of marble and snow
Yet he could not help loving anyone else
But himself and the dark of his kingly bent brows

Like a motionless sculpture of a pale heathen god
The bard used to stare in a mirror of glass 
And he was ensnared in the webs of his own
Reflection of beauty so kingly yet cold...

Lamenting Shield-Maid

She was not raised in garden of peace, 
where sunbeams play in blooming trees. 
She was told to be born in battle 
and brought up among dismal and death. 

Skilled in the craft of killing and fight, 
the girl learned to bear weapons 
and a sword did she yield. 
No worse than her peers she held up her shield 
and grew into a maiden, 
a fair one and strong. 

And there among warriors all grim-faced 
and tall she eventually found her life and her love. 
And in an ancient old forest of green 
they used to meet in their ardour and lust. 
They embraced each other 
and only the trees heard their sighs 
full of pleasure shared under the veil of the moon...

Yet they had to part soon as the battlefield called 
and brought them apart for many a league 
and for months she was sundered from his godly voice 
and this is the song that she sang:

Ho! To the battle I went
And killed many a mightier men
(and even a troll!)
And my sorrow withdrew
As I drowned my woes
In the deaths of my enemies
And the blood of my foes

Victories healed her and gave her the strength 
to rival the severance and the grief of long nights...

Once roaming along an old brook in the wood, 
she heard voices and sound of a battle not far -
so unsheathing her sword the maid hastened for help 
and could not believe her emerald eyes 
when she percieved Him lying in the rushes 
alone with crimson red cloud of blood spreading around,
all pierced with sharp arrows and hewn into parts. 

To the ancient green forest had he evidently returned 
to seek shades of their happiness long left behind, 
but ambushed by enemies and grievously wounded 
he was as she leant over him and wept...

The shield-maid mourned long beside his deep grave, 
dug by her own hands in a shadowy meadow 
in the ancient forest of menacing old. 
And this is her last lamenting chant:

Now to my final battle I must go
All I ever had is now buried and lost
And he whom I cherished has taken my strength
Away to the halls where life never ends 
There now I shall follow and meet him again
And among the undying flowers and trees 
We'll walk hand in hand in the gardens of death

Dragons Domain

It was in the long gone days of old
When the mighty master of darkness 
Hit the earth with his terrible mace 
And tremendous tumults shook the soil 
Amidst vast vapours of fire and dust
A great mound arose in the wastelands of north,
And there among fields of heather and moss
Began the tale of Dragon's Domain...

Within the majestic mountain of stone
The master then carved great caves beyond count
And inside the gloomy cold walls of the rock 
Forth brought he the darkest design of his thought
And shaped a mighty kingdom for worms
Finally under the roofs of the hill.
Where black pitches loomed and ground belched flames. 
He placed the first seeds of a Dragon's Domain.

The new devised race of horror and dread -
Like birds merged with serpents of lizards, or worms - 
Soon woke from their wyrmish slumber of time
And no beasts yet greater had followed the Moon.
They hardened their flesh in the fires of the earth
And sharpened their claws on the edges of rock
And soon every tree in the wastelands was burnt
By the scorching breath of the Dragon's Domain.

Far beyond the borders they went 
And sacked and brought ruin to every neighbouring realm
And the king of serpents wore a crown of their hoard 
A golden-horned sign of their splendour and might
And only the bravest warriors dared
To enter the bare lands around the kingdom of snakes
And never through many a century after
Did bards forget the tale of the Dragon's Domain.

The bards forgot the tale of Dragon's Domain...

Wolfghosts (In Winter)

Beyond the invisible girdle of north
Lies the well-hidden castle of frost 
And the paths to its towers, carved in ice.
Are guarded by wolves of ominous size.

Great are their numbers in winter's realm
And great is their strength by all the accounts
And nobody passes the borders unseen
By the fiery eyes of the servants of wild 

Yet some of the evil spirits 
Those most unobedient and vile
Have been cast out of the enchanted domain
And doomed to forever roam the land

When full-moon casts its evil beams
On silent forests and ice-clad streams 
Unlucky travellers may then hear
A chilling howl of anger afar

There the downfallen children of snow
Each of the twelve expelled once 
Have gathered a threatening army of wolves
To avenge upon mankind the curse laid on them

People of highlands, men of the north - folk of fierce courage, 
endurance and might - yet even
They fear the onslaughts of the phantoms at night, 
and above all their leaders, whom they named wolfghosts - 
dreadful masters with white on their breast and bellow-like nostrils,
inclined for warm flesh

And when over the sinister mountains of north 
Storms forth a raging blizzard of frost 
Through the snowclouds may sometimes be seen
Foggy shades of rushing terrible beasts

Ahead of the flock leaps a tremendous wolf -
one of the twelve in hunger and wrath 
Gnashing its fangs of iron and steel,
whilst leading the majestic legion of night

Pity to those forlorn who may ever perceive
The triumphant king of the nebular herd...



Under trees on leaf-clad ground
Throughout the golden autumn time
(We're) making love and dancing round
Drinking sparkling elvenwine...