Low Man's Dance

The Low Man's Dance originates from the necromantic traditions of the Jhoutaioan Mar'rianians. It's a sung from weaver to woven, as though from mother to child.

While many of the Mar'rianian undead exist within chattel slavery, it is considered good form and good luck to treat them with the respect deserved by the dead. Even if the Grimoire itself is a Soluma -- an artificial soul -- it still absorbs the emotions of those around it, and may become violent if treated with violence.

It is common for servant and master to carry a tune while in the presence of a Low Man, if only to keep their spirits soothed. Mar'rianian history is rife with tales of necromancy gone wrong and undead turning against their masters in voiceless but violent rage.

In shadows deep, where lamplight fades,
I toil on you in silent glades.
With needle sharp and thread's revise,
I weave new tale from your grim demise.

With gentle hands, I mend the seams,
A macabre dance, in twilight dreams.
From this art, I give you meaning,
Crafting purpose from death's undreaming.

Oh, the low man's dance, in the moon's red light,
A puppet of fate, in our endless night.
With tender care, I bind the straw,
To clothe the soul that obeys my law.

In hollow eyes, a vacant stare,
Echoes of life, beyond repair.
Yet in this vessel, my hands create,
A semblance of a newfound fate.

With every stitch, a whispered plea,
For mercy by this dark decree.
For though they walk the world undead,
I gift them dignity instead.

Oh, the low man's dance, in the moon's red light,
A puppet of fate, in our endless night.
With tender care, I bind the straw,
To clothe the soul that obeys my law.

In the fields where vagrants roam,
I build a stand, a final home.
You, scarecrow, poised, grave and sleepless,
In ever-vigil of our many secrets

So sway and dance in evening's chill,
Guardians of the darkened hill.
For though your purpose seem so grim,
In new skin I hope you brim.