Four verses.
In the East a fleet has gathered:
Tall and black-sailed, manned by monsters.
On the Holy Hill the monarch,
Shining son of Fair Thoranrai,
Hears the please of suffering peoples,
Calls for banners, summons vassals,
Summons them to Ranhor’s Isle,
Where he now awaits the conflict.
Now upon that ancient Isle,
High and shining red at sunrise,
Orkon’s hordes have breached the harbor,
Fanhal’s paladins have met them,
Spilled their blood upon the granite,
Purple granite stained with combat,
Stained with blood of youthful heroes.
Many monsters swarm around them.
Varfal’s ships have reached the harbor!
Fair Feiala, chanting softly,
Deep into the earth has travelled,
Down to where the Swan-thing sleeping
Waited for the ageless priestess.
Now the King comes forth to battle,
Now the Baron strives to meet him,
Cuts a path through many monsters.
Now we sing of Mighty Fanhal,
Who this day against the malice
Of our ancient foe has triumphed!
High above us, Water’s Guardian
His jaw he opens as a floodgate,
Washing clean the filth of Mawish.
Now we raise our voice in triumph,
Now we sing of Fanhal’s victory!
No comments:
Post a Comment