This page contains various poems dedicated to songs written for battling and fighting, telling about heroic deeds, great wars or mourning on beloved ones during times of horror. You can also find songs and poems of honor, valor and courage here, telling of the deeds and the engagement of heroes when going into combat. Finally this page also contains marching songs and ballads, which are battle related.



The following piece of verse was discovered in an old journal dating back to the Third Sarvonian War. The poem is believed to describe a siege on one of the northern cities, shortly after the Battle of Four Swords in 292 b.S. The poem is believed to be the work of a soldier, and was first published in Zhinwold Grinth's "Heroes of Battle".

Gold for the master,
Silver for the maid,
Copper for the crafstman working at his trade.
Fine! said the Graven sitting in his hall
But iron- cold iron- is the master of them all.

Pewter for the tankards,
Tin for the plates,
Wood for the drunkard messing up the place.
Good! said the innkeep, leaning by a stall
But iron - cold iron - is the master of them all.

Bread for the bellies,
Ale for our cups!
Slop is for pigs, see how they drink it up.
Yes! Said the halfling, speaking with a drawl
But iron - cold iron - is the master of them all.

Torches to the buildings!
Fields to the flame!
Death to the weaklings fleeing at our name!
Ashz! said the grim orc, looking at the pall
But iron - cold iron - is the master of them all.

Pitch for the darklings,
Archers to the wall!
Water for the horses waiting in their stalls.
Well! said the guardsman, standing on the wall
But iron - cold iron - is the master of them all.

Hammers for the anvil
Steel for the blade
Axes to the darklings plying the grim trade
Thraz! said the dwarf lord, grinning at the brawl
But iron - cold iron - is the master of them all.

Feathers for the arrows,
Strings on the bows,
Peace for the fallen, keep them from our foes.
Aih! Said the elven, waiting for their call
But iron - cold iron - is the master of them all.

Shoes for the horses!
Swords to your sides!
Men at the ready, 'tis time for us to ride!
Charge! Said the horsemen riding to the wall
And iron - cold iron - was master of them all.


This piece of writing, now considered as a poem, was once believed to have been used as a war cry by none other than Ma'asherom’s the Red, one of the most powerful evil archmages during the legendary War of the Chosen. It is said by those of knowledge that the poem was once inscribed on major buildings in several of the bigger cities of the human kingdoms, but all of these were destroyed at the end that terrible war. Now, these lines only remain, hidden away in the deepest recesses of the Santhalan Library.

Are you the chosen?
Are you cold inside?
Are you lost in demise?
Are you gone from life?

Are you the chosen?
Are you full of hate?
Are you unable to like?
Are you destroyed by love?

Are you the chosen?
Are you tortured by reality?
Are you wounded by truth?
Are you killed by life?

Are you the chosen?
Are you the careless?
Are you the soulless?
Are you the heartless?

Are you the chosen?
Are you the fallen?
Are you the lost?
Are you the doomed?

Are you the chosen?
Are you the murderer?
Are you the obliterator?
Are you the annihilator?

Are you the chosen?
Are you the winner?
Are you the master?
Are you the magic?

Are you the chosen?


(This is a song sung to remember those who have died in battle.
If honouring a specific person, sometimes his name or title may
replace "the Kuglimz" in the second line of each verse, i.e.
"And Mari'ak rides his kev'lor again", except for the last two verses.)

The war cry thunders out across the plain
And the Kuglimz ride the kev'lor again.

The war cry thunders out across the plain,
And the Kuglimz ride the kev'lor again.

Ride the kev'lor, ride the kev'lor
Ride the kev'lor again.

The enemy comes riding out across the plain
And the Kuglimz draw their weapons again.

Draw their weapons, draw their weapons
Draw their weapons again.

The armies meet in war out across the plain
And the Kuglimz fight their battles again.

Fight their battles, fight their battles
Fight their battles again.

The defeated foes flee out across the plain
And the Kuglimz return homewards again.

Return homewards, return homewards
Return homewards again.

And when the Jav’veir(*) comes out across the plain
The Kuglimz grieve their dead again.

Grieve their dead, grieve their dead
Grieve their dead again.
(*) The Jav'veir is the northern corbie, the Kuglimz "death bird",
and it plays a crucial role in their mourning rituals.

by Drogo

Whoa men
ho men
off to battle we go!

Farewell the lass
goodbye the brats
off to battle we go!

Sharpen your steel
and mount your horse
off to battle we go!

To kill an orc
maim a 'mari (*)
off to battle we go!

We fall and die
to fend our homes
off to battle we go!

Whoa men
ho men
off to battle we go!

(*) "Maim a 'mari" refers to fighting the Ash'mari, maim is used as the
worst disgrace to an Ash'mari is a maimed and useless warrior.

by Xarl

It was the battle of Deep Winds
In Osthemangar's deep
It was the stand of the Móch'rónn
In Hegedorn's stony keep

It was the War of Chosen
Fought by demonic claws
It was the Fall of Ximax
To dark and monstrous maws

All these battles were fought well
With sword and shield and beast
But always the winning factor
Were the wizards' deadly piece

We fight with flame and wizardleaf
With bolts of lightning strong
We fight with demons mighty
And with thunder's deadly song

We are the Magi
We rule with more than might
We are the Magi
And to the end we'll fight!

We don't care where
We don't care when
Or how many strong the foe
All we need are targets
And that's all we need to know

Prepare your swords
Prepare your shields
And bring your evil horde!
The sorcerers await you
Led by the Magic Lords!
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by Coór'Efér

umm tum tum To the battle we go,
singing of the glory and the slaying of our foe.

umm tum tum Riding steeds so tall and proud,
heads facing forward spears pointed to the ground.

umm tum tum Elven archers in our rear,
hear the arrows fly when the enemy is near.

umm tum tum Dwarven axe men at our side,
fighting for the riches in the land where Brok resides.

umm tum tum Human swords are in reserve,
waiting for the chance to give the Orcs what they deserve.
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by Mutare Serphinroth

Feel it when you cannot see,
Trust it when you cannot feel.
Stay and fight when others flee;
But without need do not kill!
When they say, in our time
Broken word is not a crime,
We’ve no need of bravery,
Then die or live in slavery….
Listen not, don’t let them spite;
Choose neither, before death - fight.
For your comrade have concern;
Do not ask it in return.
When in great pain - grit your teeth!
Watch your weapon in the sheath.
Believe then, when faith is gone,
Have hope then, when there is none.
Raise your head when others fall,
And stand proud when others crawl...
Hear your heart in subtle doubt,
To the silence give a shout.
See stars through the smoke of vile...
And through falling tears – smile.
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Lucirina Telor Vevan

As the moon rises on a cloudy sky
I cry out my curse.
My feet are standing in a puddle of blood,
blood shed from the innocents
slain by my own hand.
Blood feeding the thirsty ground,
with pain and death.

Alone on this hill
I curse my faith
I curse the mother that gave me life.
My comrads are lying dead,
strewn among my enemies
the Kiivosh long flown.
The goddess of night
in death has united them.
Their faces lack of colour
as my voice lacks of life.

I stand with no honour.
I live among all the dead.
Feeling the smirk of the goddess.
She rejected me,
she let me live while they all died,
robbed me of my friends and family.
And as she laughs at me
I scream my curse to the night.
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Lucirina Telor Vevan

By the dark field of battle,
stands a dusty old tavern.
Among laughs and rattle
hide pain and heartburn.
Among bright elven voices,
and the growls of the dwarves,
wait bows and axes
beside blood-stained scarves.

Outside the night is silent,
silver light pouring from the clouds,
violence lies dormant,
as bodies covered in their shrouds.
Suddenly a song breaks the darkness,
from the soul of a lonely singer;
a tune both new and ageless,
strong as storm and thunder.

"Tomorrow as the dawn breaks,
before the rooster cries,
we will bravely meet out fates.
Let Saban’s magic arise!

So lift your cup
to forget your sorrow,
drink it all up!
We'll be dead tomorrow."

Other voices join as he sings,
intertwining light and dark,
voices filled with aching,
they raise like a bulwark.
Sheltering dreams, killing worries,
of victory they are hopeful,
life returns to tired battlers
giving courage to the fearful.

Soon bows, swords and axes are raised
as elf, human and dwarf chant,
and hope of victory praised.
Ale and wine into cups decant.
They lift them to a toast,
as they celebrate life
and death is forgotten... almost.

"Tomorrow as the dawn comes,
Before the cry of the cock,
we will walk with the sound of drums
and splitting every rock.
Let's raise our cup,
toast for the enemies' sorrow.
Let's drink it all up,
they will be dead as well tomorrow."
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The nobles dance and their lordships prance
And forth the envoys ride
Then we march out to fight about
Some crownswain's injured pride.

But in the sword lies comfort
And in the fold lie friends
And in His eyes we all stride out
To seek our bitter ends.

Eat, drink, and be merry, my friends!
Raise your glass to the Warlord on high!
Eat, drink, and be merry, my friends!
For come tomorrow we die!

The battle's pace before His face
Resounds in earth and sky.
Let Him now see your bravery
And he may pass you by.

The nobles may sleep fitfully
In downy feather beds
But we will sleep both sound and deep
On the straw beneath our heads.

For there's a blade carved with your name
Or a bolt that falls from high,
But for the cause and for His laws
You'll slay before you die!

Tomorrow we will fall like leaves
As through the fray we wade
Tonight we are invincible
Until the moonlight fades!

Eat, drink, and be merry, my friends!
Raise your glass to the Warlord on high!
Eat, drink, and be merry, my friends!
For come tomorrow - we die!
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by Bard Judith & others

(This infamous soldiers’ ballad has over thirty verses, each featuring
a different Sarvonian city. From one end of the continent to the other the fighting man
 has marched and sung these stanzas, one more lubricious than the next.
We have selected a few of the verses less likely to ignite our parchment than the rest,
including the opening stanza, and recorded them here for the
dubious benefit of Caelerethian posterity.)

(Bard Judith)

Sarvonia has lov’ly girls,
In country or in tow-own,
And in or out I’ll take ‘em all,
I like ‘em up or dow-owwn!

In Carmelad I kissed a wench,
I did not know her naaa-aaame,
I kissed her hard an’ left her there
Afore her husband came!

In Santhala I loved a lass,
Her lips were ripe an’ reee-eed,
Her skin was soft as th’ velvet that
Was coverin’ her bed!

In Parthanul a young fishwife
Was spreadin’ nets to dry-yyy,
Her skirts blew up, her nets blew down,
An’ I could see…oh my!

In Bardavos I had a maid,
With hips so round an’ swee-eeet,
I liked her swayin’ better still
When she was off her feet!


In Horth a wonderful gal
full of life and a big smile
took me in her arms for a twirl
we did dance for awhile.

(Talia Sturmwind)

In Strata I met a Shendar
I tried to touch her tend--er
but when I kissed her no---ose
her knife came far too clo--ose.

To Rahmat I never came
and that‘s a bleeding sha--ame
for all the lov‘ly gi--irls
will never see my cu--urls

Uderza is a lovely place
I know from there a pretty fa--ace
But when she lost her sa--andals
I had some major sca--andals

In Thalambath a sorceress…

(parchment is torn off abruptly here, and a note in different
handwriting is scribbled on the side:
“Dear Masterbard: What were you thinking of? Do NOT include
the Thalambath stanza! OR the one about the Milkengrad miss, either!
And remove any references to “Fa’av’calar”, or however you spelt it,
unless you want an elven curse turning all your furniture back into living trees…. A.F.” )
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by Bard Judith

Armeros Armourlord, lend us thy armour’s ward,
Give us the strength of the Truth-Splitter’s blade!
Keep our lifetales from thy measuring scales,
And we give thee praise that thy glory not fade.

Armeros come, as we summon with drum!
Trumpet and heartbeat shall bring thee to hear.
In the red battle’s call save us from dying fall,
And from the little death cowards call fear.

Armeros ware if our cause be not fair!
Send out thy vipers to strike at our foes.
Let them taste earth in their death as their birth,
Confident warriors are we for thy blows.

Armeros Battleking, ‘tis to thee we do sing,
Fighting thy causes wherever we roam.
Shrinepoppets bright we shall honour each night,
Bless thou our amulets, bring them all home.

Armeros Armourlord, lend us thy armour’s ward,
Give us the strength of the Truth-Splitter’s blade!
Keep our lifetales from thy measuring scales,
And we give thee praise that thy glory not fade.
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Rayne Avalotus

The emerald blades weep crimson tears.
On slender stalks stand flowers
Stained into a livid red
By a thousand scarlet showers.

The saffron sun in her cerulean dress
Surrounded by lazy cloud–ships
Now caught behind an ashen sky
Like a permanent eclipse.

The haunting moans still echo through
The crowded Queprur's field
Where the bravest souls had fought,
And a hundred fates were sealed.

And as the silver rain streaks down
So will tears streak down the face
Of a mother whose son has flown
Up into Avá’s holy grace.

In the plain where men were felled
The vilerats ‘round them creep
Whilst butterflies land upon the dead,
And bow their heads to weep.  
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Poems written by various team members