Final Resting for Travian Shea

—a traditional ballad translated from the archaic tongue by Tancred Lasalle, Historian and Poet

In crashing tides of revolution, resolution, evolution,
Heroes shine and heroes blaze and heroes die like moths.
In the glow of glory’s fire, the legend’s flame, the hero’s pyre,
In the glow of history the shadows stretch out long.
The tree of legend withers,
The leaves fall,
The trunk grows rotten…
Hear the tale of Travian Shea
That he be not forgotten!
A golden shadow stretched across the land;
Conquest from a place of heat and order, wealth and strength—The golden glowing shadow of Shallam. A golden shadow blotted out the sun
And Ashtan huddled, waiting to be free, to be, again,
A “light unto eternity.” Free. Shallam shouted kindly words of peace—With armies in the streets they shouted peace,
With bloody swords unsheathed they shouted peace,
With bloody souls unshrived they shouted peace.
And Ashtan listened, sneered, and whispered “Vengeance.”

Their midnight meetings need not be retold:
The raising of an army cruel and bold,
Righteous and angry,
And the speeches of their leader,
King of generals,
Dragon of strategists,
The mighty Zarathustra.

This is the tale of Ashtan’s shame and Ashtan’s glory,
A fabled name and a bitter story;
This is the tale of the final day
Of the Glimmering Rider, Travian Shea!

---

On the dawn of the day of the final decision
The armies were massed to the north and the south.
“These Shallamese banners are thorns in my vision,”
Said Travian Shea, with a twist to his mouth.
“Then tell me, my friend,” laughed Zarathustra the Dragon,
“What do you say if we pull those thorns out?
What say you, Travian Shea?
What do you say if we cast the dogs out?
What ho, Travian Shea?”

“My sword is for you,” said the Glimmering Rider,
“But you know the worry that weighs down my heart.”
“Fear not, my friend,” said the great Dragon General,
“Soon you’ll forget you were ever apart.
Ralston will save your dear lover, my friend:
Your Anna will be with you at the day’s end,
I promise you, Travian Shea!
You’ll embrace your dear lover before the day’s end,
Be bold, my Travian Shea!”

Anna stood still in the Tower of Crows,
Her fear creeping slow through her heart.
From her window she’d watched the field since the sun rose — Now the armies were a bowshot apart.
In the sewers crept Ralston the Serpentlord king,
Rushing to rescue her, rushing to spirit her
Back to Travian Shea.
Rushing to take her back where she belonged,
To the side of Travian Shea.

The armies stood firm in their ranks on the field
The morning sun lighting their way.
Heaven and hell were in front of them then,
For thousands would perish that day.
And Travian’s diamond-sheened armor did gleam,
And he marshaled his unit as if in a dream,
“Prepare, men,” said Travian Shea.
The Glimmering Rider kept watch on the field,
The glimmering Travian Shea.

Shallamese heralds rode up to the front,
And called for their foes to disband.
Zarathustra laughed long, and he yelled back in scorn,
“Foolish brigands, begone from our land!”
We will fight for our lives, and we’ll fight like the angels,
And we’ll fight like the storms and we’ll fight to the death!”
“And beyond,” whispered Travian Shea.
“Shallam, I warn you we’ll fight to the death!”
“And beyond,” whispered Travian Shea.

The Shallamese heralds rode back in disgrace,
As the Ashtan men chanted their warsongs with rage
And the pipers’ tunes carried their men into war.
The armies swept inward like drapes on a stage.
And where the two met, there the curtain turned red,
As the soil was suffused with the blood of the dead;
In the middle rode Travian Shea.
His sword gleamed like sunlight, his armor like stars,
Celestial Knight, Travian Shea.

On a silver-white charger he rode like a storm;
His lightnings rang out from his sword and his lance.
The cries of the dying were music to him,
His sword moved in time, in an elegant dance,
Striking twice here, striking twice there,
Striking and sending the foemen to death—The blood-dance of Travian Shea.
And the foemen danced on to the darkness of death
With a curse for Travian Shea.

And finally Shallam fell back in disorder,
Tenscore dead, and twentyscore bleeding.
Zarathustra yelled praise, “Good fighting, my boys!
For the ravens good Shallamese feeding!”
Ashtan had lost but a score of its men,
And from inside the walls the Ashtanian cheers
Reached the ears of Travian Shea.
Loyal, the occupied city did cheer
“Zarathustra! And Travian Shea!”

Both sides gathered again and struck,
Striving to kill and to die for their cause.
In the center fought Travian, strong as a hundred,
Like thunder and starfall, with never a pause.
In her tower-room prison his lover stood watching,
And Ralston, nearby, heard her pray,
“Come for me, Travian Shea.”
As Shallamese soldiers burst into the room:
“Come for me, Travian Shea.”

For Ralston, the serpent, fast action was crucial — Twilight protects those who think for themselves.
With venoms and bowshot he fell on the soldiers.
“Lady, I come from Travian Shea!
Shallam scum, look to yourselves!”
On the battlefield, Travian fought like a whirlwind,
A cyclone named Travian Shea.
He ignored the faint whisper that came on the wind:
“Come for me, Travian Shea!”

This time the Shallamese fought with some cunning,
But the great Dragon General expected each move.
“Fools!” Zarathustra cried out in amusement.
“I see that your tactics have room to improve!”
He outflanked a flank, destroyed a rear-guard,
Crushed, killed, and cancelled. “Strike first! Strike hard!
And rally to Travian Shea!”
A bulwark unbreakable, beacon unshakeable,
Glimmering Travian Shea.

Travian’s diamond-dust armor turned ruby,
His bright blade was streaked with bright vengeful blood.
The focusing point of the great Ashtan army,
Which swept to the gates like a terrible flood.
Then the Shallamese fielded their final reserve
But wise Zarathustra did not lose his nerve:
“Finish them, Travian Shea!
If we break through the gatehouse the city is ours!
Lead the charge, Travian Shea!”

“Hold, Travian Shea!”

The field fell silent and all turned to see
Who had challenged great Travian Shea.
Darius, Shallamese Warmaster-General
Rode in through the gates to the breach of the fray.
He commanded his men to fall back; Shea did also.
They advanced and stopped only a few feet away.
“Hear me, Travian Shea…
Leave the field now, or your lover sees heaven.
Choose well, Travian Shea.”

The Glimmering Rider was dumbstruck with shock,
Suspecting at first that the threat was a ruse.
“Ralston,” he said, but the Warmaster chuckled.
“The serpent now swings with his neck in a noose.”
Travian Shea looked about him in anguish.
“I must see her,” he said with a voice cracked and small.
“I must see her,” said Travian Shea.
And the Shallamese brought her to the edge of the wall,
And held her ‘bove Travian Shea.

And there, hanging one hundred feet from the cobbles,
She never did utter one sound.
But her eyes met with his, and he trembled in rage,
Rage and despair mixing fire in his soul,
And Darius said “Leave the field, Sir Knight,
Or your love will be placed in the ground.
Hear me, Travian Shea!
Give us the field for just this single day
And we’ll spare her, Travian Shea!”

But the Dragon of Generals was shaking his head—“We have the gates and half the foe are dead!
If we yield this fight, the war is done as well.
Shallam’s reinforcements will send us all to hell!
Do you hear the chant within? Do you hear it?
Do you hear them inside chanting ‘Ashtan! Travian Shea!’”
ASHTAN! TRAVIAN SHEA!
“Will you shatter all you stood for?
Tell me, Travian Shea!”

[Editor’s note: In public performances of this ballad, the audience
is encouraged to chant the capitalized words in counterpoint to the
minstrel’s recitation, echoing the cries of the citizens of occupied
Ashtan, awaiting their deliverance by Zarathustra.]

ASHTAN! TRAVIAN SHEA!
ASHTAN! ZARATHUSTRA!
ASHTAN! TRAVIAN SHEA!
ASHTAN! LIBERTY!

Travian pondered. (ASHTAN!)
Travian wept. (TRAVIAN SHEA!)
Travian despaired. (ASHTAN!)
Travian raged. (ZARATHUSTRA!)

Finally Travian chose his path
Finally Travian drew his sword
Finally Travian howled aloud
“For Ashtan and liberty!”

A flash of a knight, a choked-off cry, and Anna was no more.
Her body fell down like a wind-torn kite and broke on the cold stone floor.
Laughing like madness incarnate, the knight, the Glimmering Knight led on.
Raving and slaying each Shallamese man, he fought as the Old Gods had done.
As Travian slaughtered his foes in the streets, Zarathustra made fast the main gate,
And Travian rode down the fleeing invaders, his visage a death-mask of hate.
Inhuman now, Travian Shea.
Past mercy, past love, in a world of destruction,
The monster, Travian Shea.

Zarathustra was welcomed with cheers of delight,
But the joy of the city was muted that night
By the often-heard screams of soul-piercing fright
That told of the battles of the Glimmering Knight.
Zarathustra sent men to clear out the last soldiers
But live Shallamese were too rare to encounter;
The handwork of Travian Shea.
Shallamese corpses were rent limb from limb
By the vengeance-crazed Travian Shea.

By midnight the city was free of invasion;
Bold Zarathustra had won in a day.
The people of Ashtan, now reunited,
Swore they would never again be enslaved.
The head of Lord Darius spiked on display — The head of the Warmaster, Emperor’s nephew,
Severed by Travian Shea.
The body of Anna lay high on a pyre — Honored lover of Travian Shea.

But Travian Shea stumbled in, bloodthirst over.
His once-diamond armor now coated with gore.
His eyes were dead holes. His lips moved in silence.
The Glimmering Rider would glimmer no more.
He saw his sweet lover, now dead, on the pyre.
He stared, and then nodded. “Let there be fire…”
Grief-maddened Travian Shea.
Sparks caught, and tiny flames slowly grew higher.
“I failed you,” said Travian Shea.

To the gasps of the people he mounted the pyre,
Ignoring the flames at his feet.
“I chose my city above you, my love…
Forgive me, for soon we will meet. Soon we will meet in the world beyond this one,” he said, while stroking her hair.
“Soon we will meet, soon, soon…”
The fire-wreathed Travian Shea.
He burned and he writhed, but he made not a sound,
The burning man, Travian Shea.

The Dragon of Generals kept rein on his men,
Who would fain have risked burning to rescue grave Shea.
“My people, his peace is not here in this world.
May Thoth show him honor, and take him to her — Take him to Anna, who he died for and killed
For the sake of this city, this city, my men!
For Ashtan, Travian Shea!
And let’s pray when we sleep and let’s wish in the dawn
Final resting for Travian Shea!
Hail Ashtan and Travian Shea!”