a Semi Epic Poem
In the deep, dark red there comes rise a tale. One
that shakes the souls of all who pass. The travelers
path that forever treads. Of ode and lore and madmans
speak. Here now to me, these calls I say, for this song
cannot wait through the day. Its warning upon deaf ears
may fall. Hear me now! My cries do beg! Upon the golden hill
he sleeps! A Dragon lurks within the Keep of Oddelulf!
It sounds too great this story I say but know that with
my eyes I have laid upon this creature of majestic size. Whose
hide glows brighter then his eyes. A deadly presence lies beneath
that benigne surface of the keep. Of endless eyes and that stare
into the deep; of night. The dragon does lay curled in his lair. All
travelers should beware.
The land is rich with roads and the creak of wagons. The air is
clear with song and babble. The mead doth flow from the inn
keeps tap and the fair maids dance as the minstrel plays. But
over them a shadow lays dark and still and death doth lurk over
that hill but it seems that none can see through the illusion cast
until they lay within the grasp of his talons!
How can a beast so deadly blend into the land? A ripple
of light before he lands upon his prey their gasps so loud,
as his roar ripples and shreds the clouds that cross the sky.
A chameleon at heart he blends in, when the skies are dark
or a home lit within by fires of the wary and the few souls
that survive but their warnings are muffled by the beautiful
land of Oddelulf!
The hills are crested with wheat and the orchard branches
hang heavy with the weight of summer, spring, fall harvest.
They hang low, so low, and the temptation is sweet that people
step from the safe path and upon the keep of the Dragon of Oddelulf!
Their innocence shatters a moment too late for them to understand
their fate. For he is upon them already, his point and his glare,
as his eyes slow their movements and they can but wait as
death rushes in and all becomes dark.
The heros sometimes come with their swords and their spells
and their goal to breach the impervious hell of the Keep of
Oddelulf, where the Dragon does lay upon his hoard. Is it the
prize or the Dragon that they do seek? And some find their
souls and others but squeak, out a quick word as they die
the shock in their eyes, confusion, and maybe surprise. For
the Dragon does not care.
He rests in his keep but the Dragon does not sleep for he
lurks day and night through the shadows. He is both here and
there and spreads death everywhere. A beautiful sight, his scales
gleam in the light of those that seek him out. What beauty there is
upon the stairs of the Keep of the Dragon of Oddelulf!
The stories grow from the fear and the rumors that spread
as the oil burns low in the taverns lamps. The soft whispered
words flutter with fear, their warnings hard to hear as they travel
from tongue to tongue. But space seems so safe and it is but the
wastefulness of man, that causes him to ignore the warnings that
land before him a moment before he steps, into the gates of that
dread place, Oddelulf!
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