The Great Northern Lords, whose people we thought fit for plunder.
In our fine fur cloaks, sailed far north to split their mountains asunder.
We thought their loyalty would thaw with the snow,
But winter got colder and their loyalty did grow.
Valiantly they laid down their lives for the land of ice and stone,
While our men lay weeping, frozen to the bone.
Hastened across the violent red snow that stretched from sea to sea,
Across the makeshift graves that number more than the trees.
Clambering for our marred ships to take us to safety,
In our haste, men fell to the ice and discovered their frailty.
Upon our shores we thought ourselves safe,
Though in time they will make my daughter a waif.
They set their sails and followed us to the lands of Summer,
To make us realise our fatal blunder.
In their great bear cloaks they set out to ravage and reave,
With a vengeful fury that only the dead would believe.
Sat in my hold as they make the ground quiver,
Knocking on my gates with their vengeance to deliver.
As vermilion rivers split the ashen earth,
Northerners slaughter my men with gay mirth,
Few fallen foes, and my fumbling finest, feed the maggots and soil,
As I stare at the door, waiting for an end to this fruitless toil.
What a sorrowful choice we lords of summer did make,
From our bloodied makeshift graves, we shall never wake.
‘Southern Invaders’ is a medieval fantasy poem set in a fantasy world I’m attempting to build for a planned novel. The poem is supposed to be from the perspective of a southern Lord detailing the disastrous results of his invasion of the Northern territories.
Photo via Pixabay CC0