The Last Man of Khulkharad

PART 1: The Last Man of Khulkharad

The head hung
From a steaming neck
While upon a branch were draped
Coats by the fire, seawater fumes wreathing
The eyes out to the black horizon reached,
Beyond it winked a plume of fire.
In rivulets twain, tears of
Salt flowed.
And a speckled crab
Out of the sand crawled
To witness this spectacle.

The man reached into
The sailcloth sacking
Upon the flames crackling
And drew forth memories, fondly fingering
Memories of might and blight,
Shore-light and bleak waters trite,

Many scrolls, much weight good and gold
Then abounded in the holds
Of three merchant ships bold,
These to the man marooned
Belonged in times of old.

He with friends good and true,
Sailed the seas wide and blue
With the needy trading, and to the greedy selling

There came a time
When across seas of lime
Sailed they
Into a bay
Where howled many-a serpent
And dragons’ roars
Cliffs of stone rent.

Upon that morn
Hung much fog and thick mist.
Thus these captains born of Nuklahr the sea god
With their crews, bold was their gist
Didst ‘pon the beach’s sand land
Unseen, unperceived by fell beasts
That there now dwell.

As one strode they
Unto the beach fog-rid
Indeed, merchants they were
But warriors truly, hauberks breathing,
A mighty host of mariners
Now sought some trodden path

Through sheer stone cliff
Was cleft
Deep abyss and narrow valley
Midst be hewn
By water trickling, flowing.
In a glen landlocked, mist-cloaked,
Lay a town of stone and wooden crown.
Huts and halls a-plenty there stood
But nary a breath there was felt nor heard.
Ever and anon
Torchlights, lanterns untended
Sputtered and died.
Wares a-plenty there were
Beneath awnings woolen
Yet soaked to the soul.
Wizened willows
Unceasing  wept
Under boughs bent;
While the heavens partook
Of sorrow-shedding deluges.
The storm raged, unlit by skyfire mighty.
Grey winds devoured
Reeds and weeds
So tall and rank
No glimpse of life there flickered
No sign of sinew by soul driven
Nor tone of voice
No glimpse of life.
And amidst
This desolate dale
Lay a lake
Of grey water unmoved, unmoving
Shores lapping
Reeds a-drenching.

Thus was the throng come
To Khulkharad,
The City of Wraiths, Phantom’s Den.
To Khulkharad,
A town of great majesty,
Mighty populace
City of golden stars,
And brazen cattle.
Yea, Khulkharad the Magnificent
It was named of old.
Yea, in ages long gone, long ago.
To Khulkharad,
Sailor’s Bane, Unblest Graveyard
Had the throng come.

For but a moment stood they still
Soaked in heaven’s downpour torrential
Then one and all
In dripping disarray
Fled into
The sole shelter
Close at hand:
A dark hall unlit,
By oaken jaws
Flapping ajar.

The raven-hued blackness cackled
As honorable druids,
Mages wise,
And priestesses fair,
Servants of Jalyrra,
The Lady of the Green Art
Strode forth and kindled
Torches from spark of humble flints
And also fired
Spirits of men
With fear frozen
Of the undead shadows
That upon this isle
Do abide.

In th’ light a-flicker
Torches they passed,
And idle braziers lit,
To bring a cheery glow
To this wide hall.

They gazed about
And saw
‘Twas a thane’s abode.
A dragon-helm at board’s head hung
Somehow new-slain,
For black blood still smoked.
About the hall were strewn
Pelts and rich furs dust-logged
While white shields cloven, rune-emblazoned
Adorned pine pillars
And shorn blades, splintered hafts
Littered floor planks un-swept
Groaned under footfalls weary

Upon a sudden gust of deadly frigid wind
There within burst and swung a-smithers
The olden doors, made in day of yore

Upon the threshold there stood a wraith
Wrathful there burned its eyes,
Crimson embers
By foul
Wind stoked,
Clad in rusted mail of chain,
At its side there swung a bastard’s sword
Of olden make, ill-forged of black-blooded runes
Its horned helm shone
With the darkness of ages unreck’d

It ope’d its scabrous maw
And forth it rasped
But one word

Mighty in power indeed,
As magefires flamed the higher
And thus it spake:
“Leave.”

PART 2: The Fallen Thane

Many a-mariner
Though hardened by
Ages of
The merciless seas,
Blood of pirates
And tyrants spilt
Therewith
Didst swoon
And woke never more,
Others, of honor heedless,
Fled craven like a flock of ravens
Unto the jaws of the eternal night of gloom
And not by any living soul
Was ever seen again.

Those strong of heart
Yet fey of mind,
Leapt forth
With whistling blade
Seeking mastery of the fiery shade
Only to be laid low
By the
Selfsame thane,
Cut down by the reign
Of olden skill
And
Black steel.

One such warrior,
A great captain of ships,
Of raging seas
And raging swords,
Finnark Glaimyl
Charged with a dread might,
Cleaving through the cold night,
His great sword flew through a blazing haze
Powered by rage and spell-blighted mind,
No reason, no skill didst he find
Naught but abyssal fury blind
In this, his demon’s bind.

The pitted steel blade
In the thane’s undead hand
Spewed forth a ghastly fume
Whilst shone the graven runes
With unholy weeping,
Tears of blood,
A-dripping

Flashed it forth
From flesh-hewn scabbard,
And met the captain’s sword betwixt
The hilt and jagged edge,

With ringing screech
And sparks a-screaming,
The thane didst wrench away
With strength unearthly
The great sword
From the
Captain’s
Crimson-clad fists

Finnark
Bereft of blade
Didst then to folly hark,
Upon that moment didst his reason fade

With eyes blazing fey,
No longer goodman’s grey,

With curling snarl
And of beasts, the roar of a jarl,

With burning heart
And madness’ art,

Through the black stinging fume
Leapt he with strides in bloom,

With ire-flamed fists so bare, sought he to smite
The foul thane’s undead blight,

Stepped the rust-mailed foe aside
With cackling sneer at barbarian’s pride

Brought he high the black bastard’s sword
For death the captain sought as bride and board

Death he sought and found him Death,
Knelt his corse and fell, bereft of breath,

And blood-matted crown.
Gone was the frown

For with soul’s passing,
There also lay, dying

That foul spell of blight
That stole the great captain’s might,

Of heart and mind,
And to an unholy will didst the sinews bind.

With spell’s passing,
There crept on lifeless lips, a sigh, smiling

And thus the rolling head
Found in its blood, its final bed.

Forever etched upon his lips and brow,
  Was then the smile of a tranquil prow.

Ashen fell the eyes of brothers twain
Upon their kin, with whom Death has lain

Not one soul didst stir,
Not even the most craven cur

The crackling flames of this now-silent hall,
Were burned by darkness’ fumes, one and all,

Strangled alike, mage’s fires
And tallow pyres;

Till in that darksome hall, there shone
For the fallen thane’s bleached bone,

Nary a light but the flickering flames of darkness
Didst many a-cowering craven to his heart harness.

But twain pair
Of eyes, ‘pon the other their pow’r didst bring t’bear,

An unholy pair, around and through was wreathed
In magefires unholy, by black fiend breathed

Whilst t’other bright didst shine
With celestial light most fine

Flared the flames within, all the brighter---
Rose from without black flames the higher…

But within the circle of warriors doomed
Upon a sudden, a mighty voice there boomed,

White flames there flared from the brave brother’s hand,
Bringing hope to the beleaguered band

The High Priest Rythaldor Glaimyl forth strode,
In his heart and faith, holy power rode

Hurled he aloft his mace,
Radiant with Nuklahr’s might, his very face

Thrust he forth his blazing holy sigil,
Breaking the foul thane’s unholy vigil

Spake he thusly,
Weaving his magic quickly
Lest be they overcome truly

Spake he forth in prayer bold
And shattered the darkness cold:

“Begone, ye spirit foul
Nevermore shalt thou, thy dirges howl

Trouble no more these mortal lands
With thy sin-stained hands

Forget thy earthly woe
For rightly wert thou laid low

Go thou now to thy earned rest
Begone, O fallen thane, lest

Once more I smite thee
And cursed shalt thou be

Forevermore to suffer torments

Wrathful in defeat, the fiend much did hiss
But to no avail for naught was his bliss

Beneath Heaven’s flaming fist
To the soothing call of the nether darkness he did list

Then was the Fallen Thane
To his knees borne by much searing pain

He fled the mead hall
Railed by cheer of one and all

What dark flames were there left,
Of magefire and master bereft

Suddenly in mighty sparks
And spewing crowned flaming larks,

There left the necks of many-a wholesome flame
Freely breathed again torches and braziers without blame.

Rythaldor turned with weary heart
Never again, the healer’s art

Minister, to brother dear
So came, so black a fear…

The Crew now joyless
Spent the silent night in sleep so restless

Then came the dawn unseen upon
Khulkharad, the land beyond the sun

But they then stirred
And within their hearts, there burned---

A flame now dark, now light
To avenge kin-blood now cold and spilt--- and make right

Comrades’ and captain’s deaths,
Came hard, their frigid breaths

‘Twas indeed a flame of vengeance, but only just…
None could summon their battle-lust

Great still was their fear
Of the Fallen Thane’s baleful leer…

But for the sons of Nukhlar,
From them, be it far

That brother’s blood be stale and cold
And comrades’ bones lie bleached and old

At oaken threshold, stood they at bay,
Trembling, many feared the fight of the fey.

PART 3: The Exhortation

So they stood and milled
With dread were their hearts filled

Till two came forward, lady and lord
The gulf of fear they sought to ford

Robed in grey and green
Their clasped hands did spark in mystic sheen

Crowned in cowls,
The twain spake not in howls

But spake they as one
As in the East, the Sun,

For but a while, broke through the sea of grey
Cloven by holy light, there fell, the spell of fey

Spake the twain to that band once bold,
Exhorted to valor of old:

“Ye mighty host of men
We ask ye now, what then

If the dead arise and brandish blades
Of iron and of darksome shades

What then if wrought of hellfire
Were our sails, and gods’ ire

Had we earned?
Have we not for honor yearned?

Sought we ever honor in all our trades
We made our grades

Always more than the water’s mark!
To our word, to our wisdom, ye warriors hark!

If doomed we are, by giant’s loom
If true our ways do wend unto the land of doom

Let us writhe like the serpent in a net
Loose, shall we slip! Do not fret!

Let us heave off the hoary hand of fate
And forge own our doom so great

Forward, men of Nukhlar!
We shall march yet far

Sought we shelter in this bloodied hall
And had many a man here fall

By blade and wicked wizardry.
That, by sacred sigil and heraldry

We fought and away didst go, the Fallen Thane
Away he went, the host not fain

His guests with welcome fare
And goodly ale to share

Wherefore do ye now cringe at fog and mist
There be no corpse-mills here nor spirit-grist

‘Tis but fog, the beard of the sea!
‘Tis but hoary frost, or no sailors ye be!”