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AABN:  7801
Title: a scroll entitled "The Blitzstadt Dirge"

FOREWARD

This poem details an event several centuries now past. The Night Lady, a
powerful Aalf sorceress living in the Aalfhaum Vale, came to the
Knight-Commander of Ritterholm. She bade him slay the silver dragon that
lived on Mount Blitztstadt, promising him a sure victory. She explained
that if the dragon were slain, the perpetual storms that grace the Mount
would dissipate, and Ritterholm could establish a colony on the slopes
using the dragon's treasure hoard.

The campaign lasted nearly a year, beginning in the spring and ending late
that winter. All the knights were killed by the dragon, and their bodies
were buried by the snows. The Bliztstadt Dirge was said to have been
composed by a minstrel that was among the company sent to recover the
bodies the following spring:

THE BLIZTSTADT DIRGE

The rains fall, the thunder calls.
The time grows near for sowing.
Under the mount, despite the fount,
No fruit on his slopes is growing.

The Lady calls, in rank they fall,
"Bring your shining lances!"
March down, deep underground,
the mount where the lightning dances.

The sun rides high up in the sky
except upon his peak.
A flash of light, splits the night,
across his face doth streak.

The Lady calls, in rank they fall,
"Bring your shining lances!"
March down, deep underground,
the mount where the lightning dances.

The mountain gale shone bright with hail:
The storm yet rages still!
Lo! Dragon's breath, as chill as death,
like fog on the stony hills.

The Lady calls, in rank they fall,
"Bring your shining lances!"
March down, deep underground,
the mount where the lightning dances.

The wind blows white with snow:
a blizzard crowns the mountain.
The dragon's breath, as chill as death,
sprays like an icy fountain.

The Lady calls, in rank they fall,
"Bring your shining lances!"
March down, deep underground,
the mount where the lightning dances.

The Lady lied, the knights all died,
deep in the snow they're buried.
There they lay, until this day,
for now their bodies we carry.

The Lady called, the knights did fall,
All broken were their lances.
Now rest they've found, underground,
beneath the funeral dances.
 

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