03-11-2006, 12:39 AM
Here's my first book for Skyrim. In 1E 369 King Borgas died while on the Wild Hunt, according to Tamriel lore.
The Lay of King Borgas
Beware the horns of eventide when autumn leaves do fall
Ne'er answer in thought or foolish deed
When the evil horns do call
'Tis said the Huntsman calls the Hunt to lure a man away
If e'er they ride the immortal run
Fore'er their steps will stray
King Borgas once did hear them ring within his walls of stone
And forth he rode to join the Hunt
And ne'er did he ride home.
Long he rode that darkened night, the White Stag he did spy
Forth he sent his hounds to hunt
And followed hard their cry
Hours sped beyond his ken, he saw no dawn that night
His eyes were on the spoor he sought
Ne'er missing morning's light
He tired at last and looked around, his dogs he called to horn
His eyes searched vainly in the sky
For sight of morning's sun.
Again the horns did sound and once again he turned to go
He soon forgot his worries
As they forged through rain and snow
When searchers came upon him he was lying neath a tree
His horse beside him dying
What evil could this be?
His hounds lay all around him, they would run with him no more
Their paws all torn and bloodied
They had run their final spoor
His horn they found clutched in his hand, ne'er more would it sound
Clove in two, by force of breath
He bore it to the ground
They say they found the tracks of a great stag beside his head
Perhaps he rides the Wild Hunt still
With the rest of the Undead.
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Comments, suggestions, critiques welcomed. If there are any ideas out there, I'd love to hear them.
Galrina
The Lay of King Borgas
Beware the horns of eventide when autumn leaves do fall
Ne'er answer in thought or foolish deed
When the evil horns do call
'Tis said the Huntsman calls the Hunt to lure a man away
If e'er they ride the immortal run
Fore'er their steps will stray
King Borgas once did hear them ring within his walls of stone
And forth he rode to join the Hunt
And ne'er did he ride home.
Long he rode that darkened night, the White Stag he did spy
Forth he sent his hounds to hunt
And followed hard their cry
Hours sped beyond his ken, he saw no dawn that night
His eyes were on the spoor he sought
Ne'er missing morning's light
He tired at last and looked around, his dogs he called to horn
His eyes searched vainly in the sky
For sight of morning's sun.
Again the horns did sound and once again he turned to go
He soon forgot his worries
As they forged through rain and snow
When searchers came upon him he was lying neath a tree
His horse beside him dying
What evil could this be?
His hounds lay all around him, they would run with him no more
Their paws all torn and bloodied
They had run their final spoor
His horn they found clutched in his hand, ne'er more would it sound
Clove in two, by force of breath
He bore it to the ground
They say they found the tracks of a great stag beside his head
Perhaps he rides the Wild Hunt still
With the rest of the Undead.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Comments, suggestions, critiques welcomed. If there are any ideas out there, I'd love to hear them.
Galrina