How daring can savages be:

  Not just to steal first a King’s glee,

  But to then ingloriously

  Leave none but one spoil to the sea

  After toil and months of blood shed

  Along the waves, whereon the head

  Of the fleet’s pride stood in great fury

  With pitiful rage of jury:

  Him of the line of Cyndaeus.

  King Cone of Deutras did lay thus

  Slighted and slain on the beaches

  A fight vainly against leeches

  ‘Twas in moments justice denied

  King Cone of righteous death aside,

  For when the princes landed there

  Their foes unleashed their one despair.

  First to stand on the beaches was

  First in rank and speeches, with cause

  Guided by only Her Above

  A father’s rage for daughters’ love

  Followed by a hundred grave ships

  Cursed tragic by the sands’ dry lips,

  Half the number by Deutras’ own

  Mighty friends gave the others loan,

  Sons, fathers, and heroes of boast

  Gave their service in that great host,

  All far behind Deutras’ fine king

  Whose morose path muses would sing.

  Spear and rock and rubble thus thrown

  Broke shield and plate and skinless bone:

  The first a treasure of proud line

  Cyndaeus’ own, even still did shine

  After generations to King Cone’s

  Whose limp arm dropped it as pain groans.

  Falaenus and Damaretes,

  His brave sons, princes in peer breeze,

  Fell too—one by heart, but other

  Through fair dart, crying for mother.

  These graceless slayings’ doer shot

  For ‘twas he the traitor’s line ‘got,

  And from the city Gare they came,

  Prince Straen, Kollys the father’s name;

  Men of Her Above sworn to be,

  Yet they now stood with enemy.

  Thus the three royals laid there dead,

  Onset waves burying each head

  Cursed by none but their fellow man

  Not the savage, by who began

  The rage for which thousands in shout

  Made down from ships and on beach route

  To recover King Cone’s body

  They fought against hard fought folly

  But the descendent from Deutras

  Held no proud treasure: stolen fast

  By Prince Straen, who retreated quick

  To hide and imagined wounds lick.

  Then the traitor fiend King of Gare

  Gave thunderous applause near and far

  Before raising his arm to say:

  “Behold this, ye Deutras, and dismay!

  Glorana Above stands here not

  To aid you, but to now cast lots,

  For you stand on mine beaches dear

  The mountains you seek to besmear.

  But for my land I live and breathe,

  For were it in your hand I’d unsheathe

  Blades holy and grant Her Above

  Glory, and a servant to love!

  King Cone is fallen, two sons same,

  Leave now and carry no rough blame.

  Otherwise, mercy is retired

  As it was for he you admired.”

  King Kollys did thus warn of them,

  But no brave man of the host’s tens

  Took up the offer, advancing

  The fight in fervor, enhancing

  The straight Deutran courage remained

  For even when beaches blood stained,

  Mights trumps advantage when gods fail

  Thus they rushed on Kollys to assail;

  Haut Stator of Hanuntum came first

  A warrior of great, though cursed

  His sisters begged him from voyage

  But ‘twas duty he saw broyage:

  King Cone’s War was a noble cause

  But now he lies by human paws

  King Kollys slew him where he stood

  Blows from a man all but him good.

  Cone’s youngest son, Trichallion

  A prince of strong mind and well bond,

  Marked this death of a brave comrade

  And charged on as the stout nomad

  Filled with all thoughts of slights done foul

  Cone’s son marched without smile nor scowl

  For his face was covered by mask

  Of Cyndaeus, King of the Task

  His ancestor of blood divined;

  As he fought his brute armor shined.

  The savages dashed to stop him

  Leaping o’er fallen Deutrans slim

  Nine in number fell upon he

  Who slew each with only wounds three

  Trichallion marched with valor

  As time would be the traitor’s hour

  King Kollys saw and turned and fled,

  Willed a servant to serve instead.

  Of no grand line, this man of Gare

  Dropped and begged the son, though bizarre

  For he lifted palms to reveal

  Broken fingers, too less ideal

  “I yield, Prince of Deutras, in shame

  For how could I fight men of fame

  When I be just a weak cowherd

  That weeps and flies: a meek coward.

  I seek thine mercy, Cone’s strong son

  As King Kollys forced me undone

  Bringing all men of form to die

  On the beaches against foes wry

  To our state, heroes and just men

  That sees our suffering ne’er end.

  Here I beg thee, Prince of Deutras

  Let this cowherd live, to breathe thus

  And I’ll swear in favor to ne’er

  Follow traitors, but stop and stare

  As Glorana Above did then

  Against three kings of once fair men.”

  Etarcus was his name, lowly

  The farmer dropped and bowed slowly

  His plea was true, the prince here knew

  His father was nothing, deeds few;

  Fingers broken, coward cowherds

  Pose the same threat as empty words,

  Thus Trichallion spoke and spake:

  “Parrdon Below won’t have his Rake,

  For I’ll grant you one small mercy

  But too punish controversy

  As you still followed the traitor

  But ceased when finding warm danger

  Here I’ll swiftly strike your hand off

  That once carried the spear in scoff

  And tell you to flee back away

  Where arrows and darts won’t long stay

  For long as you call here your home

  Bloody killers with hounds will roam.

  Fly now and from Kollys be far

  For he’ll now break the graceless star.”

  Trichallion spoke and did so,

  And Etarcus howled and bent low

  For what pain holds, though not as fierce

  As Parrdon’s Death, whose flamed rake pierce

  Each it holds, though not Etarcus

  Who departed and ran steps plus

  The heed he gave to all he passed

  Most hearkened, retreated en masse

  And thus with Trichallion’s spare

  Most from Gare tried not to here dare

  To fight with the men of Deutras

  Or any friend that came there thus,

  And in their rigorous, stressed haste,

  They left the King’s body to waste

  Though no wise Deutran saw it there

  They thought Prince Straen had stole it bare.

  Still remained the savages, who

  Fought, but hunchbacked as they were, few

  King Kollys brought seven thousand

  To dispute, but they were less grand

  Only thousands two rallied by chiefs

  Stood to throw Cone back into reefs

  For rarely they come down their hills

  And mountains to the island’s rills,

  Ne’er mind the shores belonged to Gare;

  Ironic in their slight wrought far.

  They pushed the Deutrans for e’er brave

  As it always was bloodshed craved.

  Prince Trichallion was joined fast

  By comrades dismounted last

  Great allies to stand: Teletes,

  Son of Bennar from Ephides,

  Then Crudor from Rhilles of dozen

  And King Sinder, Cone’s gray cousin

  Who afar from Dralt brought thirty

  Ships’ rowers to aid, all sturdy.

  They in their contingents sallied

  As savages their chiefs rallied

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  Onward in messy and steer path

  Combat in loathful and queer bath

  Trichallion with shield made jest:

  “They charge as if numbers they best,

  But ‘tis us with our ships hundred

  That’ll have all their crude tides undid,”

  But one foul hunchback savage leapt

  And the legs of Bennar’s son swept

  He made cry with teeth bent and cracked

  And thrust his pike down in cruel act

  The life from Teletes vanished

  His hopeful smiling lips banished

  As his soul departed from earth

  The pike o’erthrowing his bold birth

  Bennar’s son collapsed at the feet

  Of Crudor, who glided to meet

  This foe of darted dash and strength

  Upward he aimed his spear at length

  But missed, then the savage replied:

  Crudor would have spat, choked and died

  Were it not for Trichallion

  Whose speed would save battalion

  King Sinder led his comrade back

  For shock still had his wits in smack

  Trichallion then stood alone

  Against the savage, whose skill own

  Revealed him from no common line

  Here could a savage king’s son shine

  What son of the barbarian,

  From Primantalkhobar’s crude span,

  The prince knew not; he rode forth cold

  But the savage son ne’er did fold

  He with pike met Trichallion

  The savage sped like stallion

  Each son had a show pomp of youth

  And Trichallion’s blood spat tooth

  But nonetheless he roared with shield

  And bashed the savage head to yield

  His foe made no such act, instead

  Shot at Trichallion’s bold head

  Saliva made way into eye

  And the savage fought new awry

  For the son of Cone stumbled down

  But gained balance and stopped to frown

  Pike became lodged in the youth’s steel

  But Trichallion spurned to reel

  A false maneuver to distract

  The savage fell with body hacked

  By the prince’s sword, for spear dropped

  Had been left in the sand stopped

  Thus the savage king’s son perished

  His true name the prince ne’er cherished.

  At this the beach was scattered clear

  Savages running in coarse fear

  The savage king’s son armor left

  As spoils, a price grand in its heft

  Trichallion claimed it for he

  Still had two more slain to soon see,

  King Cone, his father was avenged

  By death of one royal savage end

  Falaenus and Damaretes,

  His brothers too killed need reprise.

  Deutrans and friends surrounded him

  Sang and shouted victory hymn

  He thanked them but stopped to then grieve:

  “Comrades, do here no acting reave,

  As before us lie three hundred

  Fallen brothers whose blood soaked red

  Numbers fair to what we lost first

  King Cone, who brought this quest to burst

  And my kin to no more roam seas

  Falaenus and Damaretes.

  Thus shall we claim Garian Shores

  First protecting our brave dead corps

  Collect bodies and treasures same

  We’ll disperse shares for the best claims

  Then do again for our shamed foes

  Who are shattered now in deep throes

  Numbers least double they must be

  Or for every one they lost three.

  The first pick is mine, I do think

  For none else can say foes did shrink

  When matched against mine prowess proud

  Fled and flew both armies in crowd.

  Therefore go or rest otherwise

  We’ll wait to march with more allies,

  For a thousand ships were promised

  Yet one hundred make my count’s list.

  Celebrate in good health, Deutrans

  For we’ll ne’er know when this war ends.”

  The prince spoke and set off to loot

  Before coming on a known boot

  And stout face, that of his father

  That Prince Straen left in all bother

  He was bare saved that boot and washed

  For the waves almost took him sloshed

  Trichallion retrieved the corpse

  And weeping became all his works

  For how injusticed it must be

  To leave one of rank to the sea

  Presently the prince thus did swear:

  To have all Gare in disrepair

  And worse for the savage mountain

  Dry would be ev’ry rich fountain

  For bloated rubble would replace

  All belongings of that vile race.

  Then more sons of the great King Cone

  Appeared in full, seven more known

  For the son of Alteus had

  Fifteen by his wife, Lyisse glad

  Ten were sons and five were daughters

  Yet two were felled in past slaughters:

  Falaenus and Damaretes

  And daughters five were savage seize

  The cause of the expedition

  The princes’ now bestowed mission

  Trichallion was the youngest

  Despite deeds now most grand done just

  Cyndaeus was the first eldest

  Named for Cone’s ancestor, well dust

  Trichallion and seven kin

  Embraced and wept deeply therein

  As pale Cyndaeus then did speak:

  “Of eight brothers us, none are weak,

  We stand here with three fallen loved

  Parrdon Below’s Rake now has shoved

  Their souls above to our Goddess

  To a palace where they prod us

  With vindication to complete

  What set us out on this dear fleet

  Let us vow to ne’er abandon

  This task as our line puts sand in

  The cost, but Glorana exhorts

  We give savages firm retorts

  Here may we do this, brothers eight

  Men of Gare and savages we’ll hate

  To the end of time and ever

  Become friend to foes then never

  Stand proud of our house, fair brothers

  Let all we brought see their mothers

  We’ll fight in front as is duty;

  Rescue sisters in their beauty

  And we’ll sail home victorious

  Have a feast grand and glorious

  That traitors here and Traitors Low

  Will quiver in fear of our glow.

  Will each of you vow to do this,

  Brothers, for the honored abyss?

  I, Cyndaeus, will surely do.

  But rich Rhenites, what say you?

  Wise Tolopus, be this your cause?

  Kind Ganor, would you give applause?

  Damippion, Damenephor,

  Have these rending words touched your core?

  And have I convinced Tyndaon?

  What of my prince, Trichallion?

  Answer me here in truthful leal way

  And expect no harsh, coarse delay.”

  His words were clear and he swore above,

  Hoping to ‘ceive each brother’s love

  In order of age they replied

  The same approval he’d abide

  Determination came innate

  Each strove for one similar fate.

  Then began camp on the beaches

  And walls built to keep out leeches

  As Trichallion had wounds stitched

  His bloodied spear he now then switched,

  The night was safe, saw no attacks

  ‘Side from nightmares that tore on backs

  Of Cone’s sons in their grand tents eight

  Joined by friend’s nations four and great:

  Cone’s gray cousin, him King Sinder

  Far from Dralt the winds ne’er hinder,

  Then King Quaredysor, he from

  Hanuntum, where Stator too swum,

  Last, Kings from Ephides and Rhilles

  Who brought with all strength divine thrills:

  Damotaon, Lassudonon

  All kingly men from noble spawn.

  They soon made council to convene

  As all shared the same dreadful dream:

  That wicked stars align and fall

  To oceans the depths dire will call

  The start of returns from hellfire

  Three Below Her Above won’t tire

  And She fails to stop what can’t be

  As Parrdon smiles in silent glee,

  Farms to famish, the seas to dry

  Tears to lavish, and seeds to cry.

  Thus they gathered in all their tons,

  Twelve with six more (the friend kings’ sons)

  Prince Cyndaeus wished to speak first

  But all ignored, for ‘twould be cursed

  To not heed eldest among them,

  King Sinder, scarce of all condemn

  He addressed with voice quite weary:

  “I trust you know my great query.

  Every royal here suffered same

  Visions of things eerie and lame.

  Why this is I might share one thought:

  The Deutran Crown no son has got

  With my cousin slain and traveled

  Princes remain, no king raveled

  This tall choice I do now propose

  I’ll stand for him with greater prose

  From my cousin’s sons numbered eight

  And thus the task is all too great.

  May we assembled eighteen then

  Vote for one of eight royal men

  (Though in truth be it ten to choose

  As each eight stands for self or lose).”

  The sage king of Dralt there declared

  And each peer in this wisdom shared.

  Votes in gracious secrecy made

  And when done, King Sinder’s voice bade:

  “Hark now, the results bare witness

  To each promise done in fitness

  Candidates for Deutran king picked,

  Pray no man here had me foul tricked

  As I see honor in those here

  Lest mine old eyes are not so dear

  I’ll count and then make it be known

  Who will next sit on Deutran throne;

  Fie! Kind Ganor here comes in last!

  No votes for him turns me aghast.

  Nephew, thy soul is unworldly

  ‘Tis only your care absurdly

  You have chosen aside yourself

  A brother highest on your shelf

  I commend this small acting boast

  As I continue count of toast.

  Ah, a tie for the next five lost

  All with one vote are simply glossed

  To next, but what is present here?

  Another draw, I’ll make it clear!

  First Cyndaeus, King Cone’s eldest,

  Then Trichallion, his youngest.

  Each has five voters to command,

  Thus may all that be them now stand.”

  All save for the princes then did

  Revealing wherein lied their bid:

  Sinder and his sons three the youth

  Plus the King of Rhilles, ne’er uncouth

  The rest in all their addition

  Chose Cyndaeus for king’s mission.

  Curious, though, that Ganor sat

  Since he, for self, made no proud bat

  And as then realized by council

  He had not yet done espousal.

  Now, he stood and implored his kin:

  “Speak, and for your words I’ll listen.

  I thought not to act on impulse

  Toward action needing discourse.

  Thus, each must make his case to me

  Now that She a tie has decreed

  I’ll choose not on bias nor hate

  All I seek is pious debate.”

  Cyndaeus then spoke in support

  Of himself, and all to exhort,

  “For I am Cone’s son, the eldest,

  Worthy to succeed, I tell this,

  Therefore gain a mighty ally

  That gives prestige that be no lie

  I harry you with great well cause

  Else my father above shall pause

  At the inglory given me

  That should be next in throne to be.

  Tradition wills it, Her Above

  Thrills it, as Traitors once did shove

  Her aside, the Three Men younger,

  Thus should be me in no hunger,

  Choose wisely, kind brother Ganor,

  Make well and proud our stout manor.”

  The King of Hanuntum gave cheer

  As did the others in their fear

  That Cyndaeus shan’t prevail on

  From any fool’s treasonous con,

  And as Trichallion readied

  King Sinder of Dralt then steadied

  He prepared to relay to all

  What he saw on the beaches’ fall:

  “When my brave yet foolish cousin

  Fell to the sands’ touch and thus in

  Peril our armies were, ‘til brave

  Trichallion rallied to save.

  His sight made traitor Kollys flee

  Then he slew savages in glee

  And one just mercy dispersed foes,

  Cowherd Etarcus guided throes

  In retreat lest the savages

  Whose sole great feat: one manages

  To close on my dear nephew, who

  Wounded already, fought and slew

  By inferior skill, that be

  A savage prince Sinder could see,

  Now slain by great Trichallion,

  Dear Cone’s son I now rally on.

  Here I beseech you, Kind Ganor

  Seek your hero brother’s banner,

  And choose him as his deeds shine bright

  For who else inspires such grand might?”

  Sinder’s sons and Rhilles’ King needed

  Not to add as Ganor heeded

  Both’s words and left the tent slowly

  Looking at the night’s sky holy

  He lifted both arms to ask sign

  From the Goddess Above divine

  Then eight comets appeared too fast

  Of mass greatest was the one last

  And mass smallest was the one first

  Each middle was plain though not worst,

  ‘Tis then Prince Ganor made his mind

  And re-entered to share his find

  The miracle outside displayed

  The prince eldest should be dismayed

  For the last thus youngest comet

  Was broadest, and here now tells it

  Trichallion prince no longer

  Succeeding as the King stronger

  By way of greater voice and deeds

  And Glorana’s planted stung seeds.

  Thus the first day of war ended,

  With their prospects there ascended

  A hopeful King in place of rage,

  Soon would end the Savage’s Age.