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Ravenlocks Songbook

The Eternal Battle of the Holy and Unholy

In the Holy House of the Bringer of Doom, And below it in caves of cold, There walked foul undeath, And wicked beings of Old.

But this did not suffice to halt, The approach of the Holy, The group of Knights, Armed with their courage, And their faith solely, They descended into crypts black as night.

Without fear and without hesitation, Without doubt and with no Uhmm's But's and No's, They charged and they slew, These their foulest foes.

Oh, in the Crypts below Death is King, In the Darkness Evil Rules. In the cold caverns the Wicked Live, In the Catacombs the Dead, Walk, again!

Drin the Warden, the resiliant Hin, Fought the Everlasting Battle, He displayed the courage of his kin, In this Eternal War!

Ghornith the knight, the Stoutest of Stout, made display of his prowess, Against shadows and more!

Danger the Paladin, The proclaimed servant of Tyr, Fought zombies in heaps, Fighting and fighting, This one never would stop!

The Warrior Priest, The Justicar Avhost of Tyr, Fought with the courage of Knights. Even as the zombies assaulted, and never fell, This ones sword would chop and chop!

Goddard the Seeker, The scout of us all, Fired volley 'pon volley, Until the zombies would fall. He never failed to support, He never failed to aid, In this battle of eternity, He displayed non-pious bravery.

Oh, in the Crypts below Death is King, In the Darkness Evil Rules. In the caves of cold the Wicked Live, In the Catacombs the Dead, Walk, again!

In the deepest of depths, they found their match, In the vile zombies, who only came by the batch. They fought and they fought, and needless to say, The zombies fell in dozens, but it didn't end well. They fell to a Knight of Doom, this pious collection, as their weapons failed to sting, Merely a handful escaped and later returned, 'gether with yet 'nother Seeker who volounteered so nobly, They attempted a rescue mission!

Oh, in the Crypts below Death is King, In the Darkness Evil Rules. In the cold caverns the Wicked Live, In the Catacombs Dead, Walk, again!

The shocking occured, as they were to descend; Those thought lost returned, Giving the rescue mission an early end.

I feel that in this song, I must explain, how such came to pass; 'Twas a sacrifice which made it so.

The Warrior Priest Dornal, Justicar Avhost of Tyr, Gave his life to save his comrades, And came to rest in the caverns below.

Oh, in the Crypts below Death is King, In the Darkness Evil Rules. In the cold caverns the Wicked Live, In the Catacombs Dead, Walk, again!

But such is the bravery of Seeker Vashan the scout, That leaving Justicar Avhost to Rest in Unrest, he wouldn't allow't. He went below to retrieve a life, He went alone, to save a man he'd barely known.

Oh, in the Crypts below Death is King, In the Darkness Evil Rules. In the cold caverns the Wicked Live, In the Catacombs, Dead, Walk, again!

The mission was a success, You may delight! In knowing of the return of these two, Even braver than Knights!

Were it not for Justicar Avhost, He would Rest in Unrest, not alone but with friends, And were it not for Seeker Vashan, This tale would have a saddening end!

*another entry is made, written in what could well be blood*

A noble, A Prince trapped amongst the scum He seeks to rule, and rightly so, these beggars they knew he'd come One day they had known, that there would be, One man to rule the land, The denied, they tried to Justify, living without a lord, But as the day came, they had to succumb, to the might of his five man horde.

In the midst of confusion, I have been placed, In the aftermath of the challenges we faced.

Do I join the Tyrant, and preach his word, or reject his protection, as I said, as Seekers heard?

To choose between light and dark, becomes harder when the world is gray. I will ask myself, shall I fly free as a raven, or sing the Tyrant praise as a lark?

To climb stairs in exchange for love, appears a reasonable trade. But will the love remain, even as the passion begins to fade?

I'd hoped for romance to be genuine, as all else becomes a play, but I feel it slips from reality, no matter what I say.

I'm put behind bars, of stone and not of steel. The door is open, but I remain, continuing this farse.

I thought I played a part, that this all was just a stage. Though I feel the difference in my heart, that this is just a cage.

*a skillfully sketched facial portrait of Wyric Crowshire covers the entire page, apparently done with a piece of charcoal, giving Wyric a rough unwashed appearance*

*a portrait of William Snyder coveres an entire page, in which he stands next to a fireplace, leaning slightly on his staff with a confident, calm and warm smile turned towards the viewer*

Show me my flaws, and I will not break. Break my Lord, and I will not fall. Show me my skills, and I sure will shatter. Strengthen my Lord, and I sure will crawl.

*A painting of a meadow in springtime covers two pages, one side occupied by a stream with low-growing trees hanging out over it. On the middle of the intensely green meadow, a two deer and a fawn are seen grazing, one of them having antlers and standing as if a sentry, eyes gazing around the forest. On a leafless branch hanging out over the stream, two black birds are perched, their wings spread as if about to take off*