I
Sing O Muse of how
In days of old,
When Roma didst allow
Men to own warriors, when men wert told
To be men, of how they didst war without
Ceasing, In this age they ne’er didst fold
Before any foe,
Into this age Maria came hither,
Crimson was her helm,
Sharp her blade that didst hew her
Foes one and all, many wert those she didst o’erwhelm,
Born in faraway lands whither
Few went, such was the distance of the realm
Of the mighty Amazons, land of winter
Peaks of the land that knelt,
In the spring of Roma’s glory, when they didst venture
Whither into the dreaming west,
Of Maria’s birth, the trees didst sing,
Born neither of the line of a King
Nor of a Queen, but rather in a ring
In the forest, where woodcutters’ do sing,
The forest of Namavo, where men do not king,
There where she was begat, during
The mad-Princeps’ who didst sink
Roma the fortune favoured, interfering
In all matters, small and large, impoverishing
One and all, whether farmer or giver of ring,
From the land, he didst wring
All to feed Maria, he who didst bring
Life, sustenance and warmth to her, both in spring
As in summer days, this ere the stirring
Of plague’s stink,
When it didst fling
Him to Elysium fields, as her uncle swing
Her unto sea-brigands for many a ring,
Her legend well-told in olden days,
So that many sing still her praise,
Long after she didst raise
Many a grandsons’ who didst blaze
Their own legends that still amaze,
In the days ere Roma’s malaise,
When Neronius prance about and graze
About the city fields’ always in a daze,
That men didst raise
The banner of rebellion and arrays
Themselves in legionnaires’ raiment that he might rephrase
His tyrannical decrees, lest they feed him his plays,
His eyes all saw didst glaze
At obligation and duty, lo! He sways
From disaster to disaster, in the worst of days,
Lurch’d Roma where once she didst blaze
From nation to nation, her foes ablaze,
From slavery to piracy,
Went the Amazon-maiden,
This after she o’erthrew the tyranny
Of the ship’s gold-laden
Taskmasters’ therein the midst of the high sea,
Coast to coast treasures she didst unladen,
Thence to slavery went she,
After Salacia’s wroth she had won,
By way of ungrateful irony
And many jeers unladen
At the goddess’s door that she mightily
Didst also sneer, thus her determination
Didst win her much more than slyly
Won trophies and celebration,
From high seas to Roma’s bowels,
High sails hitherto behind her,
Now steel blades and tragedy ahead of her,
Many the years in servile battles,
Lo! Liberty didst elude her once more,
Many wert the years of horror
In spider-haunted catacombs
And blood-stained arenas where war
Has her home,
II
Of Maximius harpers do sing,
He the chief ruler of the ring,
Mighty as the greatest king,
Harsh and cruel was his sling,
Though his sword was sharper still,
His dark mane didst send a thrill,
To more than one lass who cried shrill
And passionately in hopes he might fill
The arena full to brim
As the limbs of his foes he didst trim,
Though they might sing well of him,
Where his fans didst deeply love him,
Many wert the gladiators who didst despise him,
Many wert the limbs
He didst chop from them,
On the Ides of Venus,
Strode wise Maria the Flaxen,
Though none doubted her sweetness,
Maxentius though found her barren
Of gentility and goodness,
Smooth her sword stroke as might move a salmon,
Her buckler wondrous,
Crimson her blade that didst shorten
Many men’s lives no matter their greatness,
Such was the strength and passion
With which he strove, his sword’s sharpness
Having hewed through lesser men’s bones as a famine
Might through the lives of men, whether full of goodness
Or no, so great an assassin
Was he, yet back she went, she the swiftest
Of warriors, she who didst fasten
Blade and ring-mail in place of the finest
Raiment, she of hair most flaxen,
Thrice he struck, his blows the brightest
Of sword-blows, that he might flatten
She who moved swiftest
To their awe, as she didst hasten,
Away from him, her movements ne’er didst diminish
In speed or grace, as she didst chasten
By spear as by lip the vilest
Of gladiators’ ere his life she didst diminish,
Great was the victorious cheer,
That didst soar from a thousand lips,
This her greatest and most sincere
Of victories that didst eclipse
All others hitherto achieved by her spear,
In many a years’ thus they didst revere,
This was the victory that didst convince
Roma to render unto her that none do smear,
Great her legend,
Happily was her liberty won,
As she into motherhood didst ripen,
Her age of servitude hardly extended,
Away she went, to the scribe’s son,
She who had scorn’d the widow of Poseidon,
Didst now do her honour and so descend’d
Down from Roma and begun
Her life anew, one that didst brighten
Her spirit, in the lands of her intended,
Thus didst life lighten,
Where before it was deadened,
This he didst all with nary a blacken
Spirit that hearkened
Many to hasten
To their unhallow’d doom’d
III
Vast wert the high hills
That decorated the peninsula’s spine,
Green and grey as a fish’s gills,
This lady of the most fine
Arms and utmost skills
She of the most sublime
Figure that in battle chills
Even the most daring and fond of wine,
She and her husband from north hills
Didst journey, they who didst define
Many battles, that which thrills
All of Roma’s men, brave as the divine,
The men who fulfills
The promise to Aeneas’ half-divine,
Yet in weary days, when tears
Aplenty didst flow and they didst decline,
Out from the hills,
Surged forth the once benign
Dwarves of Mt-Strenuus, who urged on to many kills
By their maddest of kings, who would confine
What nobles he could beneath the hills,
In battle, few their fears,
Many wert the years,
Since the last wars,
Idly they had pass’d their full scores
Of dozens of years,
Ground down by Neronius’ reforms,
Dvalin’s folk didst turn in calls
And myriad songs,
To King Glefram, he of the many wrongs,
Magnificent wert his halls,
Past the greatest of falls,
Far and deep ran their walls,
Below the earth, and many the songs
There where all gold belongs,
They sang loud, they of the many laws,
Such their harsh rulings, and many their thralls,
Such was their way, and few their wars,
Even fewer their shores,
Great wert the stores
Of arms and mighty their roars,
When battle was join’d and wars
Ushered forth, such an era few deplores
To this very day, still their hearts soars
At the notion of the age of high-lords,
Such was Roma’s vast stores
Of fame and victories in many wars,
That Dwarf and men of that age deplores,
Any attempts to make them thralls,
And such was the height of her walls,
That men and Dwarves wert given pause,
Walls that wards
The greatest of armies,
That despite his many wrongs,
Glefram could neither by trick or accords,
Make them fall, and was left amidst the thorns
Of Roma’s high walls
High was his brow
Wicked his temper,
Many the friends he didst disavow,
Far didst he venture,
That he might allow
His people to be Roma’s contender,
This on many carcasses’ he didst vow,
That he might ne’er tender
To Roma another surrender,
Such was this youth’s callow
Nature when he didst render
His people low
To many a lender,
Ne’er again wouldst he bow,
And no further oath wouldst he render,
So that a great row
He sought all while he didst engender
Much hatred and doubt,
This while he lived in splendour,
That didst cause many to doubt,
And left his people reluctant to bow,
Such is the tyrant’s vow,
IV
Long was Glefram’s beard,
Heavy his axe,
Terrible and weird
He was, his father’s rule lax
Where his was feared,
The Dwarvish rule didst wax,
This ere his realm disappeared,
Thereafter his rule it didst collapse,
The kingdom of Glefram thus few cheered,
Great was both rulers’ tax,
That even fewer revered,
Countless wert those they sent to the racks,
He and his foe, both names smeared,
Pass’d down since the age of Roma’s pax,
By Laevinus’ pen that by ink blacks
The page that by fate as by the gods’ traps,
Didst rule as by pen-strokes as blows of an axe,
Up from caverns deep, to Roma’s walls they near’d,
Where children are rear’d,
They surged, one and all and away went their bared
Fangs though not without a tax,
Ere the war’s outbreak,
Many wert Maria’s days
Of manifold peace, that didst slake
Her soul’s great ache,
This ere her lover they didst take,
Ne’er once did he fake
Geniality or love, as he made
Of her legend a great tale,
Across the years they didst wade,
Their home ere the war they didst farewell bade,
Such days’ joy ne’er dost fade,
Down from the north to southern lands they strayed,
That they might see Roma’s displayed
Wealth and glory, won by war and trade,
Thereupon the hills they and others didst parade,
And there a great many wert betray’d,
By Dwarven greed as by wealth displayed,
In hopes to woo and awe, and leave none dismay’d,
Thus noble and tradesman lost by they who disobey’d,
Roma’s edicts and her lands didst invade,
V
Away Glefram took Laevinus the Scribe,
He of Korax’s greatest Romalian tribe,
That all do describe
As the noblest of men, and the most bright
Of the suns’ of Korax, they of the many allies,
This ere the rise of Roma’s blight,
Four of Roma’s greatest sons’ wish’d to proscribe,
From Roma’s fields he took flight,
Before her eagles’ answer’d his slight
With much spite,
Many wert those who sought to make right,
That which he had in the night,
All without the most upright
Of his people, who dread’d Roma’s might,
All he could do to their despite
He didst so do, and so in spite,
Took hold of four nobles most upright,
They who held themselves most uptight,
As true men ought to without respite,
Though take from their greatest height
None didst disgrace Roma’s name by flight
Or by fading away into the night,
As cowards’ might,
Yet naught could they do to blight
Or blunt the Dwarvish capture that night,
None didst so beg, or think to beg for respite,
All didst ground teeth together at this slight,
Chief most among them was the Equestrian knight
Laevinus, who didst recite
A great many poems and remain’d polite,
To captor and friend, that they might
Also be filled with his light,
Below suns’ kiss’d mountains,
Far beneath Roma’s terrains,
Far away from where Neronius’ reigns,
Where it ne’er rains,
Down whither they went in chains,
Their togas and tunics covered in many stains,
Little in the way of food that sustains,
They and the supply-trains,
Didst journey with few gains
Made for their captors’, who returned to domains
Poorer for it, than before,
VI
Whither Maria journeyed,
To rescue the most learned
Of Roma’s sons, many those who didst impede
Her path in hopes to in glory exceed,
Down from weathered tops,
The rulers of the skies, her head wouldst lop,
By beak as by talon, as they didst crop
Down by flight as by knobs
That her feet didst prevail upon,
Fleet of foot as a swan,
This she didst just before the dawn,
Deep into their halls whereon
The sandaled slippers of many a nobleman
Of the Dwarves, once walked upon,
Her blade struck only their spawn,
Who didst employ brawn
Against others, treating them as pawns,
Though few didst she employ brawn
Against, lest she be caught before the dawn,
By way of trickery,
As by slippery
Uprightness she didst achieve victory
O’er the entry-way, without tarry,
The path most periphery
She took in a great hurry,
Past guards important and auxiliary
She slipped, mindful of their antipathy,
And of their long history,
Great was their ability
To remain full of hostility
Towards all, such was their volatility,
Due to the great infertility
Of the wits of their nobility,
Little was their glory,
In recent days, where nary
Any from father to son carry
Decency or true ability,
Down past splendid halls,
She didst trod,
Until she came to imperious walls,
Held together by a bond
Greater than steel,
Their pain far beyond
Their grasping so that it could ne’er heal,
Such be the loss,
Of elder days’ glory,
Deep where none cross
Swords, nor e’er tarry
Lest they should suffer the great loss
Of life, limb and every
Treasure they hold dearer
Than life itself, such is the unsavoury
Nature of their dark ruler,
No less foul than Neronius
Who inspired no less bitter
And foul a sentiment
Of hatred amongst his people,
VII
Love in heart,
And mighty in arms,
She didst enter the palatial keep,
O’er high-walls she didst leap,
And under low sewers
She swam and didst evade pursuers,
Many wert those she slew,
That she might hew
King Glefram in his grand hall,
Behind his high-wall,
Gladius in hand,
There below the land,
Trapped in suffocating dark,
She didst kill him, and carve
Into his people’s history
More than a mystery,
Hers was the swiftest blade,
They e’er saw that didst bade
Their king a scarlet farewell,
Her blade terrible and fell
Could not be matched,
Though, he slashed
And struggled well against her,
Mighty was his axe that in verse
Is remembered still,
By those who live beneath the hill,
Bitterly he ruled until
All had their fill,
And by bitter violence
He was felled,
There before guests made tireless
By torment, from whom he withheld
All sentimentality, such was his odious
Manner of rule, that propell’d,
From his side all of his dearest
Guards and friends,
Neither by way of hate,
But rather that by fate,
Maria didst pass blade
Through neck and mane
Of King Glefram who was made
To utterly trade
This mortal coil, to be displayed
In that realm where all debts are repaid,
Ne’er by weakness swayed,
Nor by greed didst she bade
Him farewell, from his mortal coil,
That he might repay for his wicked toil,
And she might return home,
The scribe’s bride once more,
That they might ne’er again roam,
From those lands which all ignore
If from the Senate, yet is this not joy?
O Muse, what greater joy
Can there be, to be in nature
And away, with scrolls in hand
And in the other, the hand of one’s lover?
Such was the joy of Maria, of the land,
Far to the north of Roma the Imperious.
What an ambitious undertaking! I shudder to think how long this must have taken.
I think I need to read more of the Tales of Pangaea to fully understand it, though. I'm gathering this is set in a parallel universe (so that Neronius isn't exactly Nero). The introduction of dwarves was a pretty good giveaway (and giver of rings is a Norse phrase, isn't it?)
Anyway, interesting. I could spend a lot of time studying it.