In the Myth Wood there are many magical weapons. Most are ancient relics from the Wood’s long history. But a few are newer additions. Llew’s Spear for one. Another one is a beautifully crafted blue and gold sword that has been known to freeze character in place. So now I must ask, have you ever wondered where Jarl Faolin’s sword came from? Wonder no longer, here is the story that will explain it all,… mostly…. Enjoy!
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The Lady’s Tree
The Lady’s Tree
Here on this spot five thousand years ago,
A Lady knelt and wept,
Tears soaked the barren ground
Before it started to grow
Wider and taller, twisting and turning
The lady knelt aghast,
Before her stood a regal tree
Deep presence burning.
The tree sighed, shook, then spoke
With a voice akin to hers,
“I know what troubles haunt you so,”
“For I am more than pine, maple, or oak.”
The Lady arose and touched the tree
With a soft and gentle hand,
She found her voice and asked it then
“What are you, bright tree, if more than those you be?”
The tree was warm and answered, voice devoid of scorn
“I am Myth, Weeping One,”
“I feel your want, courage, and despair,”
“But most of all, I feel your grief, by which your heart is torn.”
The lady lowered her head, and nodded to the earth
“You are right, my grief is strong,”
“Although I can’t bear it, I am Alone.”
“I am afraid I will forever be and have been since my Birth.”
The tree was touched by the lady’s words
A decision it had made
To bind themselves together
To free the Lady from her loneliness, to forever live with the tree.
The Lady agreed, stepping closer still
And put her arms around it,
As the bark closed around her.
They grew to a forest, with river and hill.
The earth became rich and pure
The water shone with glee
The birds chirped and sang
The air was filled with magic, strong and sure.
The Myth Wood rose, became a land
Blessed with beauty
Devoid of death
Woe it did not remain, as the sands of time flows by.
Though not as pure, Myth remains Myth,
Now our home, beloved and sacred.
Though like the wood, war torn and scarred.
The people are firm, strong, and brave
This is the tale of the birth of the Myth Wood
Let us not forget its roots.
For through a Maiden’s sorrow
The Lady Tree has stood.
Fen’ Alfar poem
Middle 3rd age
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Prelude to Tamberleon
The cry of a child, a warriors cry
To answer the call, a call to die
A choice for the blight
A choice for the light
Stone cold with fright
A part of the night
A man of anger, by which he was driven
Would fight for an Order, his name being Riven
A warrior boasting of many talents
Would one day rise to fight for Balance
A man who once was kind and free
Would spread Chaos with unbridled glee
Will these woods ever heal
From the grim sound of steel on steel
A tale of revenge, Fury and glory,
Sit down by the fire, for this is their story.
(Discovered on a page fragment from Book 1 of the Tome of Dragons.)