Lament for the East

Before the Storm

The Easterlunds were golden and rich, a pastoral paradise for farmers, millers, and fishermen. The iridescent shale cliffs sparkled purple, green, and blue from a sun which shined from an indigo, cloud scattered sky nearly every day all year round. In the afternoons it would rain, churning the fertile soil. With the sea to the east, and mountains to the north, west, and south, the Easterlunds enjoyed a sheltered existence in which they could farm and fish in peace for generations.

The Coming of the Warlord

When the Warlord rose, it was a burning tide the likes of which had not been seen for a thousand years. He brought with him beasts forged of fire and molten metal, creatures made only for death and war. With iron and blood, he shattered the peace of the Easterlunds in his continuous march across the lands of Kresla. The golden fields and picturesque mills were put to the torch, and gibbets of unfortunate souls lined every road. Some were able to flee and spread warning of the Warlord's advance in the form of a lament for their lost paradise.

Lament for the East

The breeze is cool upon the shore,
The mist of the seas it brings,
And out across the misty moor,
Its siren song it sings.

Turn your gaze away, fair one,
Look not into the east,
For its days of beauty are done,
Gone are the days of peace.

For the baleful gaze of war has turned,
devouring our fair land,
Our coasts, shining gold have burned,
Engulfed in shadowed hand.

To the west, turn you, dearest one,
From the march of blazing death,
For the days of beauty are done,
And the winds of war
smite
the sea's
breath.

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Image Credit to Andreas Rocha

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Image Credit to Andreas Rocha