Dust to Dust - A Fantasy LARP
Home · Setting · Rules · Events · Forums · Codex · Contact Us

Song of the Wolf King

Popular with: Gaunt, Oresund, Druma, Northern Principalities
Unpopular/unknown with: Unpopular in the Athral Isle (amongst native Athrals), unknown in the Caliphate and Tarsikka
notes: The Song of the Wolf King has only recently come back into circulation, due to the return of the Heros of Druma.


In the high and ancient Northlands
Where the black bear hides her children,
Where the black wolf waits with cunning,
Where the black crow in the birch trees,
Sings the stories of Ancestors,
Stood the many clans of Druma,
Full of Chieftains brave in battle,
Warrior tribes and cunning shamans.
Fought they long amongst each other,
Warred the many kings and princes
who would rule the ancient Northland:
One high king for frozen Druma.

From the South came foreign wizards,
Casting spells of Stranger Magic,
Bearing bones to bind the chieftains,
Bend to heel the Druma Heroes.
Built they in the North a Beacon,
From the bones of Northern Heroes,
From the skulls of Northern Warriors,
With the blood of Northmen flowing,
Steaming hot into the Harbor,
Imma Hamn, the Never Freezing,
In the vale called Immanaja,
Tall and grim the Foreign Beacon,
Casts its shadow on Fair Druma.

In the shadow of the Beacon,
From the ancient clan of Kora,
That call home the fertile valley,
Named by men the Koramela,
Rises up a youthful warrior,
Bold of action, full of cunning,
Noble he in form and feature,
Strong of back and broad of stature,
Black of hair, and eye still blacker:
Right arm thicker than the birch trunk,
Left arm stronger than the fir trees,
Surely Elm trunks should bend sooner,
Than Brenad of Koramela!

Rose he from the blood of Heroes,
Thousand Thousands of great Warriors:
Long the rolls and lines of old gods,
Long the road from Vuln to Ganlun:
Longer still, his blood's accounting,
Of the deeds of his ancestors:
Deep the sea of black Vo'holas,
Tall the Mountains of K'olvu
Hot the heart of Drom's dark mountain:
Deeper still the blood of Brenad,
Taller stood his bloodline's heroes,
Hotter burned the heart of Kora:
Carved into the Bones of Druma,
Were the names of his Forefathers,
Brenad, son of Storied Kora.

In the forests called Sykoran,
Hills where the black bear prowls, hunting,
Where the Raven circles, waiting,
There the black wolf, ever watching,
Mighty Kjulnir, gold-eyes staring,
Speaks his will to listening Shamans.
Speaks he of the Great King's coming,
Shamans of the Northlands hearken,
Wise Ones of the Mountains Eastern,
Druids of the broad Sykorax,
Witches of the dark Dromveden,
From the Skarra-peaks, the Rook-bound,
Hear the song of noble Black-Wolf,
Singer of the Ancient Stories,
Keeper of Ancestor Secrets,
Whispered memories of brave men,
Echoed in their deepest dreamings:

"From the valley Koramela,
Comes a youth fresh from his first Hunt,
He will come and leave his mother,
Leave the forge-fires of his father,
And the grain-fields of his brothers,
And the fish-boats of his sisters,
Strike out from the arms of Druma,
Leaving all fair and familiar--
He will go into the Southlands,
To the tainted Ofamadr,
To the lands of Stranger-Armies,
To the homes of the Oppressors,
Learning all their ways and manners.
Further still will that one travel:
To the lands of burning desert,
To the cities with white towers,
To the Gates of Wizard's Keeping,
To lands where dwell inhuman warriors,
Lands where live the troll and shadow,
Lands which stand above dark waters,
Lands where live the Oldest Warriors,
To the Islands where live Storm Drakes,
And the Glaciers of the Ice Drake,
All the lands in shaped creation:
There will go this youth of Druma,
First a boy to seek his fortune,
Then in time a man returning,
At the forefront of his army,
Bearing with him mighty heroes,
Boldest they in all the world-lands.
By his leaving shall you know him,
By his leaving and returning,
By his army of strange warriors,
Loyal they in deed and dying,
He the last-born of his clan-name:
One High King for lonely Druma."

These the words of ancient Kuljnir,
Spoken in the Sleep of Shamans,
Carved in ice upon their Dreaming,
Watch for and await his coming:
He who leaves the Koramela,
He who would be called the Wolf King.

Rune II