Forgotten Ground Regained
The Lay of Beoric
I. Beoric Leaves The Grim Isles
It has been told of oldOur fathers on Grim IslesSailed stern ships with firm gripSalted water fearing.
But one son named BeoricBore little love for fishHe scorned the barren seaAnd sought to twist his fate.
So, sun-starved winter done,To his kinsfolk spoke he,“Why dredge this dreary seaWhile realms do empty lay?”
Laughter rocking raftersRang long through drafty hall“Tell! Where lay these fair lands?”His father loud did mock.
“There west where wicked kingsWill glad make you their thrall?The sun-scored southland sandsOr east o’er endless seas?”
Forth Beoric burst, “Nay, North!Bear witness to this oath:North shall I set my sailSo come doom or glory!”
Some thought his words well wroughtWith Beoric oath did takeThen each their ship equippedEager for voyage North.
Six were Beoric’s brothersThree did sail beside himThree did grieve them leavingTheir father cursed him thus:
“So go then! Greet thy doom!‘Neath waves great fiends await.Or meet on Northern shoreSome other loathsome fate.”
Many men then trembledHis mother wailed and criedBut father bore for himNot pity, fear, or pride
II. Beoric Slays Kolkrabba
Through great gales North they sailedOar and rudder thrashingRolling waves wide ridingTil, for rest, took shelter.
But none there knew what lurkedNeath those writhing watersFoul ancient foe belowCruel Kolkrabba found them.
Beast o’erturned brother’s sternHer slick arms Beoric sawWith white rage he did fightEmpty waves long slashing
Grey waves then went silentLoud wailing Beoric cursedBent on violent vengeanceAgainst the vile sea-beast.
So quick they took thick ropeProws then lashed togetherTightening formed round ringTo keep ships from rolling.
Then longest hook he tookRam’s head on it skeweredDown ship-ring’s center dippedAll waited, weapons drawn.
Long laid strong KolkrabbaFar below them lingeringBut hook sunk deep did keepThat devil in their grip.
“Haul heavy!” Beoric calledWell hard his whole crew pulledTil tentacles slick spilledUpon their tethered decks.
Hewing, black blood spewingEach boat’s crew hacked slick armsTil Beoric killed the beastUpon his blood-soaked deck.
Harbour guard hard vanquishedSafe haven there they wonOn that beast they did feastAnd mourned their fallen kin.
III. The Woman in the Wood
So landed Beoric’s bandFair timber halls they builtThose dark woods held good gameThin backs and arms grew thick.
But night would bring wild thingsWhich walked the woods and bogsWorse than the cursed wolvesTrolls most foul and wicked.
Yet heart did bid him dareEver deeper wanderingStrange words he heard and songsFull of grief and sorrow.
“My sister were you madTo make so cruel a trade?To tear me from fair woods?Beast-bride of me you've made!”
On her silver streamingMoonlight saw her sufferSo also Beoric sawSitting, hiding, listening.
“Hail pale stranger,” said she,“Long I saw you coming.Now tell well - what are you:Wicked foe or hero?”
Beoric grunted bluntly,“Bear your own keen judgement:My crew slew KolkrabbaAnd many crafty trolls.”
“Fortune fair this moon bearsFor sister mine conspiresTo dread troll king wed meSo she might take these woods.”
Grave word he gave and bladeThere onward her to guardSo, like a spell, love fellBinding burning spirits.
With Beoric she went quickThrough dark and guarded woodsOut of her sister’s gripAnd on to Beoric's hall.
IV. Beoric and Fyra
Wide-eyed many met herFyra, foreign maidenRed hair like flaring fireEyes green as frigid seas.
Beoric's brother wondered“Who is this you have brought?Dark things I fear cling closeTo her tattered cloak-edge.”
His words Beoric heard notFor by her beauty snaredHis heart and mind were blindTo his kin strong grumbling.
Addressing all she called“Tell! Why this harsh abuse?Have I to one done harmOr spoke ill in this hall?”
“Betrayed by my sister,Lysa, bitter schemer,Heartless she would wed meTo tyrant of these woods.”
Those there rose up at onceTheir anger like red iron“What king could claim this woodWon with our crimson blood?”
“No word here heard,” she asked,“Of horde-lord Gezbrukter?Waits he high in GatewatchHis promised bride to wed.”
Then their thoughts were darkenedFear made their anger thickBeoric bore thoughts of warWith boldness there he spoke.
“This long have we held strongAgainst the restless horde.Let fear not steer us now,Nay, let’s slay this troll lord!”
Stern words stirred great courageSo gathered kin for warMost of that mighty hostWould soon be seen no more.
V. The Battle of Gatewatch
Over rivers ragingThrough rugged forest trodMighty host most valiantAll, for war, made ready.
To Gatewatch through the passThere in between pale peaksArrived to drive at lastAll threat of trolls from home.
Sunset done, dusk settledDark shapes stirred, rocks shiftedIn gloom loomed figures greatLong grey silence breaking.
Horrid Troll-King howlingAll his dread host callingTrolls like thunder rollingGrim-faced rushed to maul them.
Beoric he stood bravelyGathering scattered brothersShield sisters yieldingSoon all round him rallied.
Slashing, bashing, breakingBattered white bone shatteredScreaming, red blood streamingAll night sharp steel edge sang,
Dawn drew near to breakingTroll-King desperate fightingSaw first light bright shiningAll trolls turned to hard stone.
Eyes by red rays blindedTroll-King reeling stumbledQuick leapt Beoric boldlyBearing wrathful death strokes.
This he then swore sternlyNo troll shall thereafterBetween pale peaks be seenIf kin of his prove brave.
Funeral pyres blazed with fireBurning fierce ‘til nightfallLong did songs of sorrowEcho under starlight.
VI. The Death of Beoric
All back at Beoric’s hallAwed by his daring deedThere hailing him as kingThick bear cloak on him laid.
So there Beoric the BearTook Fyra as his brideThen watches three he setTo honor those who died.
Gatewatch in mountains greyStagwatch the wood did guardSeawatch to brave salt wavesAll the realm strong keeping.
And so that land securedFor some time was held tameIn such rich soil toilingSons and daughters prospered.
But one bitter winterIn Beoric’s well-lit hallA stranger came to stayBlack hair neath silver cloak.
“So this is he,” she said,“Sly Kolkrabba’s slayer,Great Gezbrukter’s killer.With this glass I praise thee!”
Holding golden gobletRuby liquid glimmeredUp to lips cup liftedRed stains lingered after.
But Beoric was not quickTo sip her bitter wineSo said she, “Drink with meOr say you are coward.”
That draught brought Beoric’s deathLoud bellowing he fellFast fleeing, cloak she shedLysa, Fyra’s sister.
Long sang they mourning songsWith grief and wrath so wildYet all had this small hopeFyra held Beoric’s child.
Copyright © Joshua Gillingham, 2019
No part of this site may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems