Kræken

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                    the heft and the edge                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     26/5/2017 wkj fantasy
 

 

 

 

 

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           A SONG OF AGES                         the kræken of great spurl

                                                             



    Here is a traditional tale told by Tregar McNabær, the only Spurladian of note mentioned in the Song. As you will quickly discover the piece is written in dialect. If you decide to try it out loud go for a Scottish accent (less Glasgow more Eastern Isles) or just make it up as you go along.
    Have fun.

     

        The Kræken of Great Spurl
         

        "A deep-swimming Kræken, an’eldvildret monster,
        crawlt forth upon the slakit lånd,
        defiled the shore and the shoreline,
        and a’the fields beyond the shore
        and a’the hames beyond the fields. 
        The Kræken spoilt the food in its spite,
        poisoned the clean wæter;
        and the people could nothing but hide. 

        No wåpon had they to pierce that hideous skin,
        no power of magic had they to dismay. 
        When a’then seemed lost,
        and the monster devouring e’en the childer o’ men,
        then he came to them:
        then the mighty wiezart,
        come for their succour,
        alone and unbidden
        when a’had seemed lost.
        Come to the Spurl, he did,
        come to the sunnert Spurl.
         Dreight o’er the Miedden,
         he came to the heart and the soul of the Spurl.

        Warrh-Mester they calt him:
        he faro’emed a’ff the seas of the world,
        and where he wish’e’at the seas wud not hinder him,
        and a’the winds ran for him:
        his sail nea’loost
        in the seas of the world

        "The Elders begged handr’o’him
        and clear did he answer then:
        “I’m come t’dreither this fiend,  naught an’less.” 
        On an evil day darkling, alone he set onward,
        striding to meet then his foe in the dale,
        and none dared come near then for fear of his ean’. 
        Some watchet from a distance, lang i’the lea,
        and after described the battle so grim: 
        They saw the dun shadow,
        fell shape o’ the monster,
        one full quarter filling the far Westring vale,
        and små’there below him,
        the små’shape o’a man,
        hard to be seen in the deep dackle dale. 
        This man he cried out then:
        a voice that rent clouds then,
        and a’the folk watching a’feared for his ean’. 
        Again he cried out, and as he cried out
        the Mester o’ Warrh took fire in the dale.

        Then through the reeking
        watchers in wonder
        saw now the wiezart with flame at his hand.
        Held he a fiery wånd,
        star-bright to blind them,
        star-bright and dinning
        in the darkness of the vale. 
        Fierce as a beacon
        advanced on the Kræken, 
        and ever he came,
        and the Kræken wud’wane,
        wary and feared of the terrible flame. 
        And then wi’ a rush
        the Mester he caught him;
        the fiend was frozen wi’ fear and misdoubt.
        He thrust then his brand,
        his fiery, keen brand sharp
        into that cold and aughlit maw.

        Watchers saw then a terrible sight:
        like rags tæken oil,
        the sluhlik beast took flame.
        In vain the beast sought,
        in pain the beast havered,
        but ne’er could regain
        his hame in the warrh. 
        The heat of the blazing
        reached those in their hiding,
        found them in wonder,
        and fear of an eand;
        but the wiezart undaunted, ran clear of the fiend,
        and left him to fate in that drå’briht dale.
        With the flame fierce and death to him
        the Kræken was strackert:
        and the Wiezart’s draht rran’flam’
        had lendert his ean’.

                                                                                                                      

 

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