A battle howl from darkest Hel
The battle goes on here as well
Against the hordes of the enemy's own
A single figure fights alone
Noble Warsong, dead and gone
Even in death he battles on
Stripped of life and righteous pride
Valhalla's halls he's been denied
But a warrior born needs no such treasure
The eternal fight his greatest treasure
So when Abysmal arm barred the Golden Gate
With battle song, he accepted fate
Just as he lived, he'd war in death too
To show his captors who was locked in with who
Bathed in the blood of countless wyrm-spawn
In the blackest of pits he's still battling on
Preparing to fight in the last days
With his most favored foes to hone warrior's ways
Here in this world on the gibbous moon's night
From the dark you may hear if the wind is just right
A howl with victorious tale to tell
Then remember his spirit and wish him well
And should you hear an unearthly voice keening in fright
Rest well, it's only the Wyrm...
Warsong's had another good night.
I am Warsong Sings-The-North-Wind's-Fury, son of Red Fist, Hero and Skald of the Get of Fenris.
Now I am Eirenhar in exile, wanderer of the pits of the Abyss until Ragnarok, when the chain will break and I will be called forth to fight at great Fenris' side until we and Jormundgandr are slain that the world may be born anew. Until then I prepare for the last days in battle, and sing the deeds of days past.
And my deeds are many, in my days in Gaia's eye, among lesser deeds, I reawakened a totem thought lost, recovered the honor of another totem lost in battle, fought two totem avatars to a standstill, saw the spirit of war itself kneel before me in submission, recovered a grand Klaive, was admitted to the Silver Pack, defeated a pack of five ancient leeches and their servants, helped destroy two Pentex installations, crafted the tale that saw one of the most corrupt of our own kind stripped from Elder to Cub, had no story of glory or shame ever questioned or denied, led the pack The Scales Of Justice, passed the rites of purification of the high orders of the Hands of Tyr, served as Jarl of a sept, won six consecutive challenges for that position in an hour's time, then gave the station to she that would lead us to victory. As her beta in the Abyss, I helped free the captive spirits, helped defeat the prized of the Beast of War, defeated three of the Wyrm's greatest banes, then plunged over the edge of the path with the pretender to the crown, calling himself the Nightmaster. My death served well, led by the right ruler of the Garou Nation, Falcon's-Flaming-Grin, the rest carried on to renew Pheonix and Falcon and win the day.
I have served, my place was to die that others might live.
I have died, and found my reward in endless combat with the endless legions of the Abyss.
I have fought, and I fight still until I may die forever in the battle of Ragnarok.
I am willing sacrifice.
I am warrior-born.
I am eirenhar denied Valhalla.
I am the youngest Garou to ever be declared Hero.
I am a Skald, singer of tales, subject of many more.
I am a follower of Fenris and Gullin-Bursti.
I am Get of Fenris.
I am Warsong, and the Wyrm fears where I tread.
Though he walks the depths of Hel
Warsong has yet a story to tell
From the living world he's gone
But in the Abyss he battles on
Son of Red-Fist Crushes the Bane
Few have borne a prouder name
Born beneath the gibbous moon
Due the honor of any ahroun
Taught beneath a heavy hand
All that Fenris would demand
Upon his sixteenth birthday night
He received his passage rite
First given five riddles to answer
Then sent against a Spiral Dancer
Then to fight his older brother
Red-Fist's brood fought each other
When he thought this all he would need
Then he had to proudly sing his deeds
And as the rhymes strung along,
So came the naming of Warsong.
Sent forth to do his family proud
To fight and win, and sing aloud
He found a portal to other lands
And across it a troubled band
Here his deeds found their start
In a quest to save the Sphinx's heart
This the prize they had to win
He was sent to follow Falcon's-Flaming-Grin
The one to who he'd tie his name
Among the last of the Silver Fang
From all sides the pack was beset
Til he found himself fighting beside another Get
Joshua, Adren, born as an Ahroun
Future teacher to the young gibbous moon
When they won, their vow to Sphinx was kept
Warsong returned with the rest to their sept.
Taught by the greatest, and with Fenris' bloodthirst
Many great victories followed this first
With each passing fight he'd howl his name
And those of the others deserving of fame
With Josh, Falcon and Fenris to thank
The young Get of Fenris shot through the ranks
Cliath to fostern he stopped a bloodbath
Holding off mammoth to save alpha and beta its wrath
Fostern to adren he brought back a grand klaive
And alone sent a pack of five leeches back to the grave
Adren to athro he followed the most ancient of lore
To find and awaken a totem, the great golden boar
In constant war, with no time to rest
He then was made elder after a Weaver-spawned test
For many garou it's this position they seek
He'd gone cliath to elder in but sixteen weeks.
Despite all such deeds his were not done
He stepped forth as alpha when the sept needed one
And each time the spawn of Jormundgandr came near
He again showed the Wyrm reason to fear
After two weeks as alpha the challenges came
Seven bold garou threw in their names
All in a row each challenge he'd take
And each time they went down, six in his wake
Then Falcon stepped up, seventh and last
He bowed before her without being asked
Six had come up, and so six had fell
But Falcon's-Flaming-Grin he'd follow to Hel.
He had to make good when he promised her this
For only days later she led all for the Abyss
All the sept followed with but freedom to gain
For the totem great Falcon in Stygian chains
To each challenge and occasion they rose
Defeating each challenge the Wyrm's forces could pose
Falcon led deeper and deeper inside
Each step she had Warsong close by her side
Then on the final bridge they stood
A man stepped forth, and removed his hood
All was revealed as the hood came down
The Nightmaster's head bearing the stolen silver crown
Around him four minions of the depths arose
To battle back their dark master's foes
A blood bane, a fomor, a leech and a knight
It was this last Warsong first chose to fight
First the knight's mount, a black horse, snorting flame
Was thrown back to the depths from which it first came
Its master followed close at its back
Cleft into two by Warsong's great axe
The leech downed its first foe, and came at the Get
Its final mistake when battle was met
When he turned from this foe, to his dismay
The Nightmaster had taken down Falcon, and was winning the day
So he charged into battle with this dark foe
Who traded him strike for strike and blow for blow
Then with claws well blooded red
He tore the crown from the Nightmaster's head
Then put it on Falcon, where it belonged
The rightful alpha as he'd known all along
Thinking now she'd win the fight
He turned to face the only other left in sight
As the other two he'd fought the fomor went down
And Warsong once more turned around
He'd thought surely Falcon would win
But she had fallen and he had the crown again
Warsong and the Nightmaster fought a second round
At the edge of the Abyss and looking down
Who was the greater none could say
Until Warsong ripped the crown away
But in the battle on Abysmal ledge
Still tearing away they went over the edge
But now in the place of Warsong's last stand
Stood Falcon's-Flaming-Grin with the Silver Crown in hand.
All know the story of where that would go
But most know nothing of what went on below
Even as both hurtled through dark pits of Hel
On the two fought as on the two fell
But were thrown far apart on hitting the floor far beyond
And when Warsong looked up the Nightmaster was gone
Then did he realize he'd drawn his last breath
As he'd always known he would he'd fought unto death
But he was now trapped in the Abyss by some unholy ward
The minions of Hel had denied him Valhall's reward
He looked to the darkness above of the Stygian pit
And snarled "It's trapped with me here, not me within it."
So he began a hunt across this darkest of land
This was surely not what Jormungandr had planned
For each time some dark minion sought to bar his path
The supposed ambush became a bloodbath
More and more died trying to bar Warsong's way
While the Nightmaster kept running away
At last even he lost track of his kills
And the Abyss surrendered in this battle of wills
Some greater demon came forth and fell to its knees
Offering his release amidst pitiful pleas
Warsong looked about the dark walls dripping red
Then looked at the Wyrm's servant and tore off its head
He bellowed out "Let all who lurk here know fear,
I tread where I will, and I like it here!"
So instead of taking the Valkyrie's ride
He tears at Jormungandr's throat from inside
Others prepare for the end in Valhalla's bright halls
He brings Ragnarok closer when each wyrm servant falls.
So when you hear victorious howl amidst the swirling winds
Howl back with pride, Warsong's at it again.
