Dirges of Welby
From Library of the Randirim
- ~~by Welby
Contents |
A Dirge for the Vale
From the scribblings of Grufmac the buglar"'
He wore a hooded cloak of Elven design, probably picked up from Duillond. His double feathered hat, obviously a gift of the Bounders of the shire, sat confidently on his head. This Dwarf has mas made many friends in Ered Luin, even so far as Buckland, I dare say.
Defender of the Halls, he was sometimes called. I followed him into Rath Teraig, being the burglar that I was, I hoped to catch him unawares and pluck one of those feathers from his hat. For what purpose, I do not know. I just wanted it.
Goblins were about and perhaps I could wait until he became overwhelmed, as so many travelers do in these parts, and save myself the danger of being discovered.
I was say this, I have often heard of Minstrels song and lays giving strength and courage to allies. But the song I heard today was a dirge, meant to stike fear and doubt upon it's audience. Without lifting a weapon, the dwarf drove them off.
A Dirge for the Vale.
Hearken ill creature
Seek not to assail.
Wrest not the free peoples
in the heart of the Vale!
Forgo this fruitless and shamefull display
For the Armies of Dain march tireless and true
You've no chance for victory
you've no wills to sway
you've no semblance of strength but the stength of a fool.
Baruk Khazâd!
For the MOuntains of Blue
You will know all is lost
when the Dwarves are upon you!
Lay down your arms!
And cower in shame.
Our might is our weapon
Our songs are your bane!
Your Bulwarks belie any hope that remains
Relent and retreat from this Vale of the Thrain!
Baruk! Baruk! Baruk! Baruk!
Upon witnessing this,..I crept back to Gondamon and decided I did not need that feather after all.
Dirge on Amon Thanc
From the scribblings of Grufmac the buglar"'
The minstrel's name was Welby. Undoubtedly I mispelled it, but what can one expect from a halfling who kept to burglaring than books. Being a hobbit, I claim not to know the deep lore of the Blue Mountain folk. The song I heard today outside the goblin camps of Amon Thanc struck me as both fearful and mighty, if not skewed a bit to the Bearded peoples favour.
Dirge on Amon Thanc
On the steps of Moria, Long aforetime.
In the Valley of Nanduhirion, The battle of the Mines.
We drove the Orcs back through years counting nine
It is there that Azog, King Thrain would find.
But It was Ironfoot Dain, which fell the foul Orc.
This day is no different! Your hope is nigh lost!.
This day is no different! Your Cause is nigh lost!
Forget not our Mountain, and the wealth of Erebor.
Forget not the Dragon from ill days of yore.
Dwarf, Man, and Elf. Craven Goblin and Warg.
Five Armies all fought to settle the score.
It was Thorin and Beorn who crushed your dear Bolg!
This day is no different! Your army will Fold!
This day is no different! your legions will Fold!
You sought to divide, But our Wills were not swayed.
Duillond and Gondamon, our peace was parlayed.
Your efforts are useless. Dark Lord you forsake.
As we lay unto ruin and reclaim Rath Teraig.
T'was Dwalin whom led, and Skorgrím he purged.
This day is no Different! Take heed of these words!
This day is no Different! Relent to our Dirge!
Perhaps I can make a bit of coin at the Pony selling these songs. Hmm,..maybe books and their keepings are not so bad after all.
Welby, son of Dwarmur
Erebor 3015
"Did you foresee Balin's Defeat at the Gates of Moria, Father? Is that why you insisted I stay here, in Erebor?"
"I wanted you to meet my friends in Ered Luin, to see what your old Dwarf was planning for his son, but you snuck off anyways, halfway across Eriador,..before turning back. Though the halfling medicine did much to ease your old dwarf's pain,.cough,..cough....I do thank you for choosing me over that accursed Moria."
Welby lowered his eyes, sliding his rough hands across the skin of his drum.
"You were much better off to stay here in Erebor. There is much more to be done,..the deep caves still stink of Dragon even to this day. And Dain Ironfoot wouldn't know what to do with precious metals if they came out of the ground as shiny Gold bars!"
To speak such of the Dain was unheard of,..even from a Master Prospector.
"They say you were away from the Halls often during the time I traveled Eriador, father. Rumors of conspirators in the Blue mountains were spreading during those days. Stories of Skorgrím's will returning to these lands and those that would have it come to pass."
"Cough,..cough,..Politics are for Men-folk, Welby,..sing me a song. "
Welby paused, taking a deep breath. It was not often he could look his father in the eyes for any period of time longer than anyone underground could keep from blinking, what with all the dust, but this time was different.
His beats started slow. He watched his father's chest rise and fall to the rhythm. Once Welby timed his beating to the beat of his father's heart he began:
The Dourhand clan and the goblins of old,..
have banded together and gathered their gold,.
An elven Prince stolen and used as bait,..
sets sail from Kheledûl to seal our fate,..
the Dwarves are preparing for war,..!
The Elves are shouting for war,..!!
And with that his father passed away. His hands, once folded on his chest, slid to one side and teetered on the edge of the bed like a branch jutting from a cliff side. A scrap of cloth bearing the crest of the Dourhand lay nestled in his cold palm. And so Welby traveled west, once again, to the Blue Mountains.
We Forge the Steel: A WarSpeech Prayer
We Forge the Steel,...
O' Ancient steel and Clouded eye
Hale our Hauberks be and adamant the Shields of Khazad.
We stand,unquailed, from the guileful winds of the East.
With Fuller and Forge deep in Barazinbar,burgeon the banes of Mordor.
Dolven are the keen Arda of Ered Mithrin where
The Marchwardens of Mount Gundabad waylay the noisome Foemen of Agmar.
With Iron and Silver, Copper and Tin.
We forge the steel which slays your Kin.
Whence Aule's Strength we draw The truesilver of Khazad-dûm
Through cavity and Cavern our labors lie.
In The Adits of Ered Luin,with skills of Telchar, Thorin's gleed burns bright and fierce.
Whilst with Blackened Ear and grey Claw , from billets true and tailings free, we raise the Armaments of Silverdeep withwhich Sarnur's bulwarks we sunder.
Of molten rock which lies within
We forge the steel which slays your kin.
With Axe and Sword and Mail unabashed we don,
for the panoply of Khazad are akin to a Raiment of Parapets bound with the Hammers and Pritchels of skill unmatched.
Woe be the brood of our enemies,be they Orc or Elf, heedless to the bulwarks of Durin's Folk.
They will find naught but bellicose blade and the enmity of a thousand Naugrim who wish nothing but to give their life so that they may await with Mahal, The Maker, to rebuild the whole of Middle-Earth.
In the depths of Mithrin, where life begins,.
We forge the steel which slays your Kin.
