This page contains poems, songs, dirges and chants dealing with the rise and fall of the ancient elven kingdom of Fá'áv'cál'âr. There exist many myths and legends concerning this mysterious realm, telling us about the united races of long times passed, of Gods and Goddesses, who walked upon Caelereth and their joy and wrath, of fame and honor, of treasures, splendour, but also the inevitable catastropy...



The Bone Queen Avásh'aelía

View picture in full size Lyrics illustration by Jeshannon.

By hazy moonlight, she moves with uneasy grace.
Within her body are mysteries like tattered lace.
Alone in her mirror fortress made of stark bone,
she tends her dark realm whilst the dead moan.

Comely she was when the city was green and gold.
Her breath poison-sweet and her eyes bright-cold.
Avásh'aelía - they named her when she was new.
Still fair she is now with scars bloodless in hue.

No one sees her but they know she is there;
a secret tale teaching unruly children to beware.
The world had been birthed new when she was old.
So they whispered to the Shadow her soul was sold.

No one cares she is ceaselessly lonely
when outside, grim ages pass to spin slowly.
She dances nightly upon splintered shards.
Around her, time slips and loosens its guards.

"I weary of spiders", she sighs with despair bleak
while one starry eye weeps a crimson streak.
Pale she had been and paler she grew
for her mind was broken and no longer true.

Then. One night of shrieks and pallid hosts,
a stranger ventures into her empire of ghosts.
Blue eyes the man possesses, merry and joyous,
his hair the burning sun, blazing and lustrous

Laughing, a whim, he swears undying devotion
and lays a kiss on the earth with a swift motion.
She hears and rises to embrace.
He sees and runs in fearful haste.

Yet she is stronger and her passion stronger still.
And she desires his bright beauty with implacable will.
She smiles a kind smile while teeth jagged like needles
tears into his throat even as he cajoles and wheedles.

Skin rips and bleeds, his life scorching her veins,
breathing, dying, loving as the hollow moon wanes.
She buries her blade deep into a heart as she cries,
sweetly caressing him as his body shudders and dies.

Stay with me, beloved mine, she murmurs softly
into his mouth, his love she still clutches tightly.
Rest, she tells him and gathers him close,
your cares are gone, vanish are your woes.

Sleep, dearest, eternally together we will be.
Forsake me not and you shall belong to me.


(Avásh'Aelía or Bone Queen was the ruler of the Shadow Elves, those who remained in the ruins of the once fabulous and legendary Northern Sarvonian elven city of Fá'áv'cál'âr, now a haunted and cursed place known as the Water Marshes. Avásh'aelía was chosen Queen as a sign of rejection and independence from the other elven tribes and the High Avá'ránn. Though not inherently evil, the Shadow Elves are intricately bound to Coór, and are known for their unwavering neutral stand on the machinations of the Eophyrhim tribe who has futilely sought an alliance with them against the Light Elves for centuries. The madness of the Bone Queen is reflected in the poem expressing her lament below.)

The stars are screaming.
I hear them through my eyes.
Black-green stars shriek and sigh
And I forget the world and its meaning.

The dead are singing.
I feel their songs shivering
a crescendo within my bones
They are always around me and still I am alone.

They say I am quite mad.
Like that drowned, gibbering lad;
One plus one gives you eighty-four
And the little girl sits all forlorn.

And even littler spiders scurry, scurry
inside me, weaving their webs;
they sometimes make me sad and weary.
But I cannot stop them, within my head.

hush, let me tell you secrets.
listen, listen;

babies grow out of walls
with blood on their tiny squealing mouths
as they eat their mothers to live


mirrors don't show the truth.
they only show beasties
and dark ugly things
that dance and creep
and crawl

They say I was beautiful once.
And that is true.
And madness is pure white in hue.
That is true too.

I love him
I still do
I hate him
And that is true too.

You made me love you
I didn't want to.
You made me hate you.
I didn’t want to.

do you know?

the prince never rescues the maiden
he just cuts her up and
feeds the pieces to his hungry heart

one last secret
and never more

love is made up of a thousand eyes
bleeding crimson streaked with white
as they shine unblinking in the night-sky

But I am tired now.
And the spiders are again weaving.
Perhaps I shall be lulled,
By the stars and their screaming.

Later, when the grinning moon wanes,
I will dance and try to un-remember
all the different colours of pain.


(A scrap of paper was found in the infamous Watermarshes with strange markings inscribed upon it. The paper was brought to Voldar where the noted scribe, Master Fitch Serdior, recognised the scribblings as elvish language and began a halting and laborious translation.

The paper turned out to be a poem or lament of sorts, presumably written by an elf, of the destruction of Fá'áv'dárím, the city of the legendary Fá'áv'cál'âr, the ancient Elven Empire of yore. It is not popularly known but it is believed by some historians that the Watermarshes is actually the ruins of Fá'áv'cál'âr.

Although Master Serdior has done an excellent job, as with any translation of a long-dead language, inevitably, much of original meaning may have been lost.

The city of green and gold is no more.
All that remains is darkness and death;
Its beauty destroyed and gone is its lore,
only sorrow and mourning and I are left.

Wetness, bitter and salty, fill my eyes.
Whither shall I go now? My heart bleeds
as I try to recall the way my homeland lies
but that path is lost to me ever and I weep.

Nameless, I wander and walk the earth.
Homeless, I know I shall never see again,
how the suns shone glisten glad with mirth
upon ivory towers or shimmering lanes.

Nor shall I lay eyes upon silvery city walls
when moonlight drapes her starry veils across
airy nights, as maidens dance within great halls
and croon with fond ethereality of lovers lost.

Exiled, outcast. I will be cruelly branded such.
I know not where I shall belong and so I grieve
for a forsaken city of green and gold much.
With a heart shattered, I can only turn to leave.

Now, black ruins and dim memories remain.
I speak and silent ghosts gather in masses.
When the last stones crumble and wane,
the wind scatters my tears into the ashes.

Poems written by variouis team members