The Baron and The Rider
By: Urulozan She'lukah
So begins our epic tale;
Of two who always sought to prevail;
A bitter rivalry
For blood, and death, to the adversary.
One a creature
Beyond all grotesque feature;
The other our hero, an outsider,
Known simply, now, as The Rider.
From whence he came, we know not;
Only that in many wars he has fought.
He rides an ancient Myrmidon of ferocious glory.
Many who stood against him, do not live to hear this story.
His strength exceeds all Vortikind
(But his intelligence must also be kept in mind);
For he was a student of respected shaman,
Something many of us wish we had in common.
The Rider stood for all that was taught
And more. His humble benevolence daren't be forgot.
Many maidens wished to take his hand;
But it was the battlefield where he was to stand;
For it was combat our hero had wed
and death in battle he preferred, instead.
Upon several days of military relief,
Our Rider was told a haunting tale beyond belief.
One of a vicious monster invading Vort territory
Whom left its victims dead or maimed (both, most gory).
After its days of terror, it fled;
Back to its home by a riverbed.
It was said to dwarf the Myrmidon which He rode.
O how He delighted in what he was told.
He feared none for size;
Neither for the foretold blazing eyes
(A farmer's fear, however, came to no surprise);
But all details he had to scrutinize.
He stood above the farmers on mounted earth,
Declaring the death of the fiend and that which had given it birth.
Many took such a claim as a joke!
But he felt no disdain for the poor farmer folk.
The Rider simply gathered his gear and mount;
Receiving many trinkets (so many He lost count!)
Each wishing him, of course, the best of luck.
He journeyed long through valleys, mountains, and swampy muck;
Never forgetting the moments he needed to rest
(For at this battle He needed to be at his best).
Never had doubt come over Him
And He knew many deemed his chances slim.
And as he journeyed onward nearing the beast's home,
He discovered a poor victims tome.
The writer scribed nothing further of the beast.
Nothing beyond what the farmers told, at least.
What had caught his attention was the name under
which it was written. The man's name was Tun'ger:
One of his military's fellowship;
And it was for his name which he continued His trip.
Tun'ger was an old friend of our Rider
Heavy on the thirst of a Julangnat Tree fruit's cider
He always fought hard in battle;
And knew when or when not to prattle.
A most honored soul indeed.
However, the honor of our Rider he did not exceed.
I apologize for straying to a mild eulogy,
But I feel note of Tun'ger somewhat vital. You see,
Now The Rider enters His fight with a new composure;
The death of a friend so close to family, indeed, required closure.
Most of the journey following the tome's discovery
Was uneventful and requires no further recovery.
When the Rider had finally set foot on the edge of the Baron's riverbed,
He dismounted his mighty Myrmidon to scout briefly ahead.
Finally our Rider encountered where The Baron lay a-slumber.
He would have gave out his mighty cry and charge there, had he been less humbler.
However, he stood firm and spook his demands:
"Foul creature! Come! Wake and face me! These are my commands!
We shall fight hither yon riverbed,
Each competing for the other's head!"
At first the Baron continued to lay, sleeping.
The Rider knew He would not leave until it lay weeping
At his feet. He called again:
"Baron! Whom had viciously slain
Tun'ger, my comrade; cast out
The farmers whom never shout,
And now reside far from their homes wailing
Their losses, for it was their soldier's failings
To slay you. That honor I come to bear!
So emerge from your vile lair!"
It was then the Baron no longer slept.
The Baron came outward, snarling as it leapt.
The Rider ran, but not from cowardice, no,
It was to his mount he had to go;
No mere exaggeration had the farmers' tales been.
This Baron was the largest beast he'd ever seen!
Still, he never succumbed to fear.
The hour of either one's death was near.
Time had passed again and again.
For possibly hours; both refusing to be slain.
To speak the truth, the battle may have lasted days.
To be certain, there were simply no ways.
Then an unsettling turn for The Rider in this clash:
The Baron had severed the Myrmidon's head in a single slash!
The Rider now stood toe to toe.
The Baron thrashed His mount to and fro.
Mourning for His loss would come later,
Now he saw his chance to rid the world of this invader.
He leapt onward, and upward, to the beast's hide;
Where he began to smash his way inside.
The Baron recoiled, reaching for our Rider with its claws.
The Rider would not cease until he's completed his cause.
The Baron, however, had finally grasped our Rider by the thigh;
Ripping him off its hide and throwing him up high.
He landed; shattering his hip, several ribs, and his left arm;
Still, he considered this minimal harm.
Perhaps under different circumstances,
But The Void had already encompassed them both during their dances.
The Rider's weapon still lay within
the creature's body; making its time breathing, thin.
At long last the Baron had fallen, and so too our Rider.
Did he die then and there, you ask? Nay, for he was a fighter.
But soon would He succumbed to His wounds.
For now He fashioned a festoon
Of flowers growing near.
He was no artist, so it had been crude and queer.
But its meaning remained clear.
It was to honor all who had fallen here
and elsewhere to this foul beast.
Even He, who knew now, he would not enjoy His hero's feast.
Finally, he claimed his prize:
The head was too large to carry. Instead he carved out the eyes.
How would He prove His battle between The Baron and He?
To whom would he give this prize for all the farmers to see
His accomplishment? Why, it was none other than myself.
There upon the mountain shelf
I observed this mighty duel, and before: accompanied Him on his trek.
From the beginning I'd been at His side. But in such a story, a mere speck.
For it was here my purpose had come to dawn.
I was to tell all of The Rider's duel long after he'd gone
(Which, despite everything, he had known was eminent),
And declare his only testament:
To honor him for his deed,
No statues, or memorials do we need;
But to keep such sacrifice in mind
And remember a beloved Rider, most kind.
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