Darkkin Lore: Two Verses

By lamplight, it is whispered.

A story of a battle long ago.

They, who fought for freedom.

They, who fought and died.

They, who spoke of freedom.

They, who taught us not to hide.

By lamplight, it is whispered.



By starlight, it was sung.

The legend of a battle that raged from canyons deep and echoed to the moon.

Heavens rent asunder; the world it heard her cry.

She was the Fallen, the fractured Dragon Child.

A stone of songs, of power rich and heady.

A stone that gave her ancestors wings, loosed them on the sky.

They who made man shiver, and cast a jaundiced eye.



They were dragons.

Flame and talon, smoke and wing.

Cloud and snow, hide and song.

They molded earth.

Tamed the winds.

Wielded flame and shaped the seas.

They were weavers of their world, with songs they understood.



But there came a voice, unlike their own that split the night.

This was a Shadow.

It spread across the land, and in its wake came death.

In the form of an owl, huge and soft and black.

It flew hither and yon, touching those whose time had come.

To whom the Star had called.

With peace they passed, and peace they found.

Peace was kept, until the sound.

A lost symphony of lore.



For this was the voice of legend, the speaker of the stone.

She, too dragon born, but different from the rest.

Her song was not elemental as those of the other four.

Hers was the song of Spirit, the bridge between the realms.

The dark one heard the melody, the mysterious refrain.



That night the great owl, a struggle it did wage.

A skirmish against itself, a fight it was bound to lose.

So instead of one, two now stood.

Like twilight and dawn before the coming of the sun.

One continued its duty, the other went on the run.



The Shadow pressed on with its starlit mission.

The Shade went seeking for the source.

The songs it heard inside its head, it went searching.

High and low, it sought them all, their secrets to possess.

Earth, Air, Water, Fire, Spirit.

The Five they were mighty, powerful and fleet.

But the Shade was cunning; it would not accept defeat.



Find them it did at last; how it tried to bring them down.

The elementals battled back and cast forth a massive gale.

A storm the striped the realm, destroyed both hill and dale.

It lasted the whole night through, and with the morning sun.

The four elementals saw what they had done.

The Shade was bound, to a dark and lowly prison, never to return.

The four elementals and the voice they would not heed.

They paid a massive price for their thoughtless deed.



Wing and talon, song and hide.

They were bound to the earth, in the image of mortal man.

Never again were they to sing.

Their wings and powers taken they retired to the deepest woods.

From the legends they soon faded as the world began to heal.

Mankind flourish, but the darkness it had a hold.



From the depths it creapt like a rat across a floor.

Into hearts and minds it slipped, whispering of malice, fostering greed.

War followed. Civilizations rose and fell.

Until the Dark had control and all hope was gone.



It was in this darkest hour, that the voice was heard.

A voice that spoke of ancient glories, the symphonies of yore.

Like the phoenix of the legend, in its time of need.

There came a race like no other, those of the dragon born.

With wing and talon, song and sword.

They did battle with the Dark once more.



Upon a field dark and bloody, they drove it back into its pit.

The Stone of Songs, it had sundered.

Shard by shard was recovered.

All except a single piece, which pierced the heart of a gifted beast.

A mighty dragon on that day, was destine to be taken.



His mate, she heard his dying cry, as she fought to save his life.

But the shard of stone sunk deep, slicing like a knife.

He drew a final breath and crossed a bridge.

A path down which she could not follow.



She took the stone and flew, hard and fast and long.

But, alas, to what avail?

Death had taken his song.

So it was with a factured heart and tattered wings that she landed among the stones.

It was a realm of strangers, who embraced her as their own.

She sang to them the songs of yore.

She hid away the stone.

Another battle came and went, such are the ways of men.



So goes legend of Elshikii and Darkkin.

Dragon born and dragon breed.

Of stones that sing and stars that cry.



By lamplight it is whispered, by starlight it is sung.

























The Harbor Master, old Timothy Dobbs, his name be.

He sits now on the bench before the window overlooking the sea, watching the tides flow to and fro.

In and out, high and low.  Up and down, the tide doust go.

A powerful man he was, an age ago it seems, but then it all came crashing down like rain pouring from the eaves.

They say his sin was mighty.

That it laid him flat.

They say his sin was mighty.

That she should have left him, to face the wrath incurred.

But she couldn't leave him there, not matter what he'd done.

She looked upon him as a father, for she'd never had one.



She was a child of the stars, taken from her home.

She grew up wild, she grew up free.

'Cross the Wolds, glen and dale.

She chased the moon and love the stars.

She knew the songs, told the tales.

Children listened, elders quelled.

For the legend she spun was one of wonder.



Beasts of starlight, flame, and song.

Dragons, born of smoke and snow.

'Cross the Wolds, glen and dale.

They flew until the voices shifted.

Into the heart of the black forests they fled.

Man came hunting, seeking them for hide and head.



Darkest Kindred they were called within the tongues of yore.

But none now live who dare to speak of this forgotten lore.

It is said that she was one of them, this child of the stars.

She who grew up wild, grew up free.

'Cross the Wolds, glen and dale.

She sang her songs and spoke aloud this tale.



Taken from her home, this child of the stars.

But who was it, who did the taking,

'Tis the query that remains.



He sits now on the bench before the window overlooking the sea, watching the tides flow to and fro.

In and out, high and low.  Up and down, the tide doust go.

The Harbor Master, old Timothy Dobbs.

They say his sin was mighty.

They say that it was great.

Now the child known as Lucy Dobbs knows little of her fate.