Gwrtheyrn
Active Member
'What festering malice must lurk in the hearts of men ere they need erect spires to elevate them above their fellows?
What twisted urge drives them to fill the planets heart with caustic bile so that it may match the vitriol and hatred that so permeates their being?
Surely if one hates ones fellow so it would simply be easier to gouge out ones eyes and puncture ones ears so that all trace of the common man is removed from the world. Then waited on by silver dolls that ape being life can slip away far from the despised other."
It was far from the best work Gwrtheyrn had put to page but it articulated something of his feelings to the urban nightmare he had found himself in. The poet was a stranger in a strange land and what he had found had amazed and horrified him in equal measure.
Being drawn to the subterranean quarters of the city he had found that the underground tunnels were filled with noxious waste products that exuded scents so pungent as to make him wretch. So it was that he had moved to the streets navigating the throng of species, races and cultures that massed together and formed something that was distinctly alien to his being.
There had been some initial confusion regarding the purchase of vittles, initially the vendors had demanded that Gwrtheyrn produce credits but had seemed to retract the statement with haste when he offered something from his stash of rubies or sapphires.
For days he had wandered drawing confused and nervous glances towards his person. The inhabitants of this foreign world came in many shapes and sizes but few matched his own immense stature. Seeing his claws, horns and twelve foot ancestral sword those who would attempt to take advantage of a clear outsider through either theft or confidence tricks instead gave him a wide berth. Only the mechanical men cast in steel paid him no notice simply going about their unfathomable business. A fear of the emotionless clockwork beings began to take root within the poets soul. Such existences were surely unnatural and only ill could come of crafting such things.
Time had begun to stretch and distort - days running into neon tinted nights as the city bustled heedless of his wants and desires. Finally through sheer luck Gwrtheyrn came to a mead hall bearing the legend "Hunters Bar" on a glowing sign outside. It was here at this watering hole men would meet to plan expeditions of danger, violence and most importantly glory.
Before he could return home Gwrtheyrn needed to write a saga unlike any other. A saga that would span the universe and drive warriors to depths of despair with grief and the heights of elation with triumph. A song that would prove to his people that there was more to this life than the caverns and crevasses of Iego.
So it was that he had penned a manuscript of parchment its letters written in beautiful flowing script traced by a feather quill. The letters were in basic but something about the writing carried an air of antiquity to it.
"To those who would seek immortality through song. I wish to chronicle the saga of someone whose deeds shall shake the earth and rend the heavens asunder. One whose ambition can move mountains and cause oceans to burn. I care not if the cause seems hopeless for it is within such ventures that the greatest moments of triumph can be gleaned. I shall accompany thee on whatever errand you have chosen and give the weight of my sword as aid along with my quill. To find me simply inquire with the tavern keep and he shall direct you to my presence."
The over sized proclamation was then hammered to the wall of the keep using a spike of iron resembling a rail road nail the owners protests silencing when he was presented with an uncut emerald
And so Gwrtheyrn sat at a table his vast book of poetry splayed open before him. Within it he recorded his thoughts on this insane planet and the beings that dwelt there.
What twisted urge drives them to fill the planets heart with caustic bile so that it may match the vitriol and hatred that so permeates their being?
Surely if one hates ones fellow so it would simply be easier to gouge out ones eyes and puncture ones ears so that all trace of the common man is removed from the world. Then waited on by silver dolls that ape being life can slip away far from the despised other."
It was far from the best work Gwrtheyrn had put to page but it articulated something of his feelings to the urban nightmare he had found himself in. The poet was a stranger in a strange land and what he had found had amazed and horrified him in equal measure.
Being drawn to the subterranean quarters of the city he had found that the underground tunnels were filled with noxious waste products that exuded scents so pungent as to make him wretch. So it was that he had moved to the streets navigating the throng of species, races and cultures that massed together and formed something that was distinctly alien to his being.
There had been some initial confusion regarding the purchase of vittles, initially the vendors had demanded that Gwrtheyrn produce credits but had seemed to retract the statement with haste when he offered something from his stash of rubies or sapphires.
For days he had wandered drawing confused and nervous glances towards his person. The inhabitants of this foreign world came in many shapes and sizes but few matched his own immense stature. Seeing his claws, horns and twelve foot ancestral sword those who would attempt to take advantage of a clear outsider through either theft or confidence tricks instead gave him a wide berth. Only the mechanical men cast in steel paid him no notice simply going about their unfathomable business. A fear of the emotionless clockwork beings began to take root within the poets soul. Such existences were surely unnatural and only ill could come of crafting such things.
Time had begun to stretch and distort - days running into neon tinted nights as the city bustled heedless of his wants and desires. Finally through sheer luck Gwrtheyrn came to a mead hall bearing the legend "Hunters Bar" on a glowing sign outside. It was here at this watering hole men would meet to plan expeditions of danger, violence and most importantly glory.
Before he could return home Gwrtheyrn needed to write a saga unlike any other. A saga that would span the universe and drive warriors to depths of despair with grief and the heights of elation with triumph. A song that would prove to his people that there was more to this life than the caverns and crevasses of Iego.
So it was that he had penned a manuscript of parchment its letters written in beautiful flowing script traced by a feather quill. The letters were in basic but something about the writing carried an air of antiquity to it.
"To those who would seek immortality through song. I wish to chronicle the saga of someone whose deeds shall shake the earth and rend the heavens asunder. One whose ambition can move mountains and cause oceans to burn. I care not if the cause seems hopeless for it is within such ventures that the greatest moments of triumph can be gleaned. I shall accompany thee on whatever errand you have chosen and give the weight of my sword as aid along with my quill. To find me simply inquire with the tavern keep and he shall direct you to my presence."
The over sized proclamation was then hammered to the wall of the keep using a spike of iron resembling a rail road nail the owners protests silencing when he was presented with an uncut emerald
And so Gwrtheyrn sat at a table his vast book of poetry splayed open before him. Within it he recorded his thoughts on this insane planet and the beings that dwelt there.