The Woods Whisper

They spoke in halting phrases, the elves whispering in the trees, like leaves rustling in the wind.

All hung on branches, or lay on boughs, or leant slumped on boles, dispirited.

Elygaean-lo-soume had fallen.

The orcs had overrun their borders and laid waste to the Grand Citadel of Litiraelissme, smashing its worshipful trees, and burning its walls.

The scouts that had come back had reported a terrible battle.

But much worse, much much worse than all that, was the rumour that High Elf Meren Kasterfall had swung open the gates in a moment of madness, and been murdered by the orcken army.

The cries, the swish of axes, the decimation of a city, as the natives fled, into the woods, to seek the legions that had been posted far on their borders to secure them…


An Elegy for Elygaean

Lo-Soume! Lo-Soume!

Past the rising trees, and round the running rivers

Lo-Soume! Elygaean!

How vast your plains and prairies

Guarded by quick ears and minds

How long the snowy mountain tops

Rained hail and wind upon your roofs

and dropped winter on your tongue 

Now lost

is Lo-Soume, Elygaean!

Your time is past and gone.

Your ramparts bereft

of noble hearts

Your houses filled with fear

While elven prowess prowling wide

once guarded hearts from fear.

How light has dulled upon the Citadel

As flames shoot up

But minds darkened first

And saw not the coming storm clouds.

The river proved no boundary

The forests were no haven

We were swept away as by a torrent

And we had forgotten how to swim.

Elygaean, lo-soume

How far your hearts have fallen. 



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