By: Agrias Posted on: December 14, 2010
The mountains sweep around a town, that's hidden deep and high,
And the windows of their frosted homes that almost reach the sky.
Off past the Vashners, towards Cyrene, this utopia can be found,
And so I sought to search it out, and all my hopes abound.
As I checked my map, and wandered long, I came upon a sign,
That declared the amnesty effect, and hence demands a fine.
I checked my pack, and checked my things, and gathered up the gold,
And found that I had just enough - though, how I shivered from the cold.
A wary archer barred the way I was sure I had to go,
And I deposited my sovereigns in his pocket, rightly so.
He welcomed then, with open arms, to venture to the town,
And I waved him off as he offered to show myself around.
What majesty! What brilliance! The snow-capped peaks and homes!
The children playing in the snow, and the leopards, guarding, roam.
I see children with toboggans, gliding through the snow,
They zip and swerve around themselves - how merry is the show!
I see them packing snowmen, with anything they find,
And I envision the comedy, as a Xorani comes to mind.
The tail is long, the fangs are sharp and glinting in the light,
And some orange ribbons show the flame that lends this happy sight.
I chance upon an elder man, with an apron full of tools,
Proof to all that making toys is not a job for fools.
He welcomes me inside his shop, and offers out his wares,
Little bears, and random things, each crafted with care.
I buy a few, and take my leave, and hear a plesant sound,
Of harpsichords, lyres, and flutes outside, flowing all around.
A man looked up to stop his muse, a moment then, or two,
To extend his hand in friendship, "I'm Salai, how do you do?"
"I've just moved in, and yet I feel, I've been here all along,
My things unpacked, my shop set up, so I felt it right for song."
We talked of life, of past and then, the good old days, long gone,
The better parts that shine above, and the times that we were wrong.
But I had much to see before the sun sank down and low,
And so I wandered down the streets, so full of powder snow.
The guards pass by and nod at me- a greeting curt and short,
And exchange their words amongst themselves, giving their report.
I see a poet, quill in hand, that hangs above a scroll,
And the lamplight through his window pane flickers to and fro.
And on the other side, of Amaranth Street,
Does another lighted window catch my eyes and then my feet.
The smells that waft out from this house, are magical enough,
A woman darts about her shop, her manners somewhat rough.
A perfumier, that's plain to see, yet, something seems amiss.
She's pacing back and forth inside, all to just dismiss.
But the sun is getting higher, and I haven't time to dwell,
And so set off once more to find, more stories I can tell.
Oh there's painters here, and artists, sculptors and the guards,
Archers for the far away, and epic tales for bards.
But I know there must be something here; it doesn't seem quite right
Like something here is lurking, skulking just outside the night.
I saunter down the alleyway, towards the lighted inn,
And find myself without a coin, much to my own chagrin.
Through the door is revelry, and full of Logosmas cheer,
As I recall what time it is, on this particular time of year.
The patrons of the inn begin to dance, and carol loud,
With such lovely tunes as 'Logosmas Man' and 'The Magnanimous Dwarf, Unbowed.'
Though I saw a field just hands away, I may as well sleep there,
There will be no warming fireside, as I feel the frigid air.
As Twilight takes the world in hand, and darkness falls like shroud,
The sunset echoes brillantly, off of the mountain clouds.
And so my camp is up and set, my little shelter, dry.
And as I lay me down to sleep, I hear a muffled cry.
Yet, not a cry, it's ethereal, and floats upon the wind,
And lingering there, outside my tent, there lies an eerie din.
I peek outside, and see a ghostly child floating there,
And forlornly does he look at me, as he hovers in the air.
To his left, another girl, and to her right a boy,
All around they seem to be, their ghastly work employed.
But apart from fear, I feel regret, when I look upon these things,
Unable though, to speak are they, and troubling, does bring.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a deep ravine
And clamber out my tent to reach its safety, serene.
But the footing here is rocky, and my boots slip on the ice,
And I plummet down to hit the ground, and my head feels like a vice.
As I get my bearings and stand upright, I brush something so cold,
And a little corpse is huddled here, his fate all but untold.
Wherein I turn away to run, this horrid sight beheld,
This poor child, died alone, inside this frigid hell.
I cannot focus, cannot see - there's death at every hand,
This adventure has turned more tragic than I ever could have planned.
I must escape, must retreat, and leave this horrid place,
And by the will of Luck divine, find solace in His grace.
But the night goes on, apart from me, as I lie trapped inside this hole,
And I hear a scream, and look about, as a tragedy unfolds.
Two figures lie embraced in tight, as one readies a blow,
And the second shadow gasps for breath, in a bloodied, deathly throe.
A tiny silver flash, and a clambering of stone,
Are all that's left, as all is still, and chilling to the bone.
I manage then, to climb outside, and sprint through darkened streets,
An escape from all this happenstance, this town, these cheery suites.
I never look back, I turn and run, yes, mock me if you may,
But all the horrors that I saw, even your mind would betray.
As the Logosmas stockings are hung, and the feast this eve draws closed,
The starkness of the setting- here begins a new repose.
For though there may be sorrow, and though there may be pain,
The blanket sadness, seems tonight, to be a legerdemain.
And as the children sleep tonight, to wake with bounty, when,
The hope shines through this hallowed place, to light it once again.
Such sorrowed sadness does surround, the town of Caer Witrin,
Yes, there is mostly tragedy- yet still a wonderland within.