Epic boast of Lumsk Shadowstalker

The Saga of Lumsk Shadowstalker
(as told by Tyr the Skaald)

West over water I fared,
bearing poetry's waves to the shore
of Balthazar's heart;
my course was set.
I launched my oaken craft
at the breaking of frozen waters
loaded my cargo of praise
aboard my longboat aft.

The ranger welcomed me,
to her my praise is due.
I carry Lyssa's breath
to Tyria's meadows.
The leader I laud,
sing surely her praise;
I ask to be heard,
a song I can devise.

Consider, ranger-
well it will suit-
how I recite
if my ballad is heard.
Most men have learned
of Lumsk's battle deeds
and Balthazar saw
corpses strewn on the field.

The twang of arrows roared
on the edge of sheilds,
battle grew around the ranger,
firece, she ventured forth.
The blood-river raced,
the din was heard then
of metal showered in battle,
the most in Tyria.

The web of arrows
did not stray from their course
shot by the ranger's
great bow of yew.
The land groaned,
pounded by the the flood
of blood, resounded
under barrage's furrows.

In the mud charr lay
when arrows rained down.
Lumsk that day
won great renown.

Still I will tell
if you pay me heed,
more I have heard
of those famous deeds.
Wounds grew the more
when the ranger stepped in,
arrows smashed
on the sheild's black rims.

Shafts flew, poisoned tipped
and fire brimmed;
the wound-diggers bit
with their venemous points.
I heard they were felled,
the Heirophant's spawn
by feathered-icicles
in the play of strings.

Melandru made play
and arrows bore down.
Lumsk that day
won great renown.

Ravens flocked
to the reddened point
arrows plucked lives
and gory shafts sped.
The scourge of destroyers
fed the wolf aligned aside,
Grenth's pet, Fenris
trod amoung the corpses.

Battle-cranes swooped
over heaps of dead,
wound-birds did not want
for the blood to gulp.
the wolf gobbled flesh,
the raven dipped
the prow of its beak
in waves of red.

Grenth's wolfish steed
met a match for its greed.
Lumsk fed flesh
to the wolf afresh.

Melandru keeps
the ranger-woman awake
when the defense's wall
of sheilds breaks
Safts sang
and points stung,
flaxen strings shot
arrows from her bow.

Wooden stems bit
a victory was rent;
the wolf took heart
at the taut elm bow.
The war-wise ranger fended
a deadly blow,
the yew-bow twanged
in the battle's fray.

Like bees, arrows flew
from her drawn bow of yew
Lumsk fed flesh
to the wolf afresh.

The taker of victory
sheds beds for spears
from her heart of gold
she spreads friendships afar
I speak from the soul:
Everywhere she is grand,
Lumsk's feats were heard
on the east-lying shore.

Ranger, bear in mind
how my song is wrought,
I take delight
in the hearing I gained.
Through my lips I stirred
from the depths of my heart
Lyssa's sea of verse
about the craftsmen of battle.

I bore the ranger's praise
into the silent void,
my words I tailor
to the company.
From the seat of my laughter
I lauded the ranger
and it came to pass
a time for the next hero
to stride past.