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First was the wolf and the wilds and the will

And the rule of the mid-realm king

Long was the night when the wolf pack was still

in their wait for the gathering spring

Soft was the face of the deep-hidden flower

that bloomed in the whispering wood

Strong was the sight of the heaven’s red eye

when the dawn was the scarlet of blood

Then came the ship to the ice-ridden shore

that carried the northern star

Proud indeed was the banner they bore

that flew from the uppermost spar

Many a back built the citadel wall

that grew on the banks of the leer

Loud was the sounding of destiny’s call

for those with the wisdom to hear

Up leapt the spark that ignited the rain

of Septentria’s flint and steel

Deep were the secrets the dwarf smith could name

and the cauldron of gold could reveal

Dear was their sister who guided the Skraels

in the lands of the easterly dawn

Steep were the banks of the river of years

when their duty was finally done

Strong is the pull of a name for your home

and a heritage all can share

Old was the wisdom the bard had once shown

who had founded the land of the hare

Thoughtful the moot and the future they saw

and the hope they agreed to declare

Gold and the pattern on history’s loom

were the threads they were measuring there

So spread the dream like a hungering flame

over Ealdormere’s towns and fields

Fated were they who would carry the name

and the weight of the champion’s steel

But for the symbols in copper and hide

that encircled their necks like a wreath

Great was their promise as Ealdormere’s pride

but their stewardship doomed to be brief

A warlord arose in the far southern land

that spoke of a northern threat

Artless the fall of his iron-clad hand

and the turns of their servitude set

Heavy the heart of the conqueror’s son

the northerner’s knew as a friend

Dark were the skies with a gathering storm

as he told them their freedom would end

Then with the heat came the summons to war

and they followed the warlord’s son

Proudly they shouldered the burdens they bore

and the praise for the battles they won

Silent the war cries and tongue-less the bards

as they toiled in the sand and the mud

Loudly their discipline spoke of the land

that whispered its name in their blood

Still their were two who embodied the north,

champions in all but name

Low burn the embers of Ealdormere’s hearth,

the seeds of a slumbering flame

Moved by her courage, they fought for the doe,

proudly they stood in her guard

Slow went that harvest and small was its yield

and for many the winter was hard

Heard from the south road the hills of the spring

with news of a tourney won

Many did wonder what summer would bring

with the conqueror’s dynasty done

Solemn that dragon proclaimed in his heart

that the law of the land should read hence

«That any who challenged the name of the north

would answer the steel of its prince.»

And so was the title of Ealdormere’s lord

assumed by the southron king

Great was the voice of the wolves of the north

who were given the freedom to sing

White were the blooms of the trillium flower

they gathered and raised in their hearts

Scarlet the bonfires that burned through the night

that were seen from the cities and farms

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