Ugh, fanfic. I am driven to it by my dork-brain.


Breton Children's Rhyme
collected by the Brothers gro-Imm

Ask the baron in the bay,
"Have you seen the foe today?"
No, No, No

Ask the soldiers on the shore,
"Have we seen the end of war?"
No, No, No

"Iode, Ione, Ius, and Iorth,
"Has he come up to the north?"
Yes, Yes, Yes

Ask the trawlers with the catch,
"Seen the Butcher of Kvatch?"
No, No, No

Ask the crumbling body parts,
"Have you seen your King of Harts?"
No, No, No

Ask the last of Direnni,
"Have you seen the enemy?"
Yes, Yes, Yes

Breton Children's Rhyme - Regional Variation
collected in Upvale by the Brothers gro-Imm

"Have you seen the Duke of Guile?
"Have you seen him on the Isle?"
Yes, Yes, Yes

Note: Here the roles of questioner and responder are reversed.

I saw his army at the Shrine,
A thousand corpses in a line.
No! No! No!

Marching at the day's last hour.
Marching on toward the tower.
No! No! No!

An interesting concept, my friend Few enough people do Tes poems anymore, and to have a whole thread of them should prove very interesting.

I myself find poetry can be very powerful, sometimes even more moving than a whole novel. I really like some of the lore references you've thrown in, it really makes it feel like real Bretonic poetry :thumbsup: It seems very rather cryptic, though I suppose it is probably intended to be; even with my limited lore knowledge I can recognize parts of it though, which is good. Give us enough to gain interest, but not enough to give it all away; very nice

Keep up the good work, it's good to see poetry here once more

A very clever take on the Brothers Grimm, I presume? Very well written either way. I look forward to seeing more of your work. I particularly like the way you've made the rhyming couplets flow. Very often, people try to force them, which leads to a faltering rhythm and unprofessional tone. A very good adaptation (if it is adapted), and a fantastic piece of lore purist poetry if it isn't. Well done either way.

It isn't adapted, though it's inspired by the (erroneous) idea that Ring Around the Rosie is about the plague: an innocent children's rhyme cryptically hinting at a very dark event. I wouldn't exactly say it's lore purist either, as what it suggests about a certain historical figure is novel (and I hope a bit troubling).

I hope to add more to this thread later. Probably prose. Thanks for the kind words, gents.

great job. if only i could make such skilled poetry as you for tes truly envious of your talent. pls keep the good stuff coming!!!

I posted this in the Skyrim section last night as a perhaps-too-elaborate response to "Favorite race and why?" See? Prose.



Extract from “I Saw Green Valenwood”
by Aufidius Tullo

I knew Bolorm was turning my question over in his mind. We had been travelling together along the Strident Coast for six months, and another eight before that in the interior. By then I felt I knew my friend well (how naive of me!), well enough to be able to read it from his face. Oh reader, how carefully one must peruse the gullies and crow's feet of a Bosmer's face! For at first glance he seems to present the same expression to every situation: a warm smile, a certain twinkle in the eye, and an overall sense of contentment.

On travelling to Vullain Roan to visit Bolorm's brother, we were told that he was dead by pact-duel. I felt an instinctive empathy for my companion. We had then only recently formed our partnership, and had so far failed to secure a single contract ("Hard to compete with the Lodges in Valenwood," he had said, with his grin, "so I suppose we'll have to ask them to disband"). I could count my coins on the fingers of both hands, and the blood pact with Bolorm had left me short in that regard. I barely knew this tiny mer to whom I was now bound, and I had every reason to resent him. But remember, dear friends, how recently I had suffered those losses which found me among the trees. My wounds were fresh, and I knew how he must have felt.

"Little elf," I said, reminding myself not to speak to him like a child, "I too feel- I too have lost kin. A man- or mer- well. I understand your- feelings." I put my hand on his shoulder, more muscular than its fragile appearance suggested. I hoped the gesture had the same meaning in this strange land.

Bolorm turned to me with that same damned smile. "Bolfin never was much use with a dagger. Should have stuck to the quoit. 'You're quoit good with that,' I always said to him."

As he walked away, cackling, I stood in the village plaza stunned for many minutes. At the periphery of my awareness I had begun to notice that the wings of giant insects had been tied together to form a dome over the square, filtering the sunlight into every colour of the rainbow. It was the most amazing sight I had ever seen, but it failed utterly to start me from my reverie. A joke. The little bastard had told a joke and laughed off the murder of his brother. No. Worse than a joke: a pun.

Later, at Bolfin's funeral (and I implore you, oh reader, to avoid any such service in Valenwood), the grin was still hanging about.

"Well 'Fin, you may not have had great taste, but you taste great."

But it had been many nights and many paying contracts since Vullain Roan, and I could divine the signs now. The slightest twitch of a cheek, a minutely angled eyebrow, a particular rate of blinking. Each denoted a whole world of emotional depth. Thinking back, I even thought I could remember it in those early days: shock, in a devilish wink at the news of Bolfin's death; sorrow, in a certain mugging face at the ceremony. And now, oh faithful reader, I knew his clever little elf brain was probing at my question, even though an outsider would only see him smirk at the passing butterfly flitting near his nose. The tension in his brow as his eyes focused on the thing? Yes, he was coming to some sort of a conclusion.

Bolorm grabbed the butterfly and ate it.

"Ah, elf! Answer the question!"

"Hmm. Mnnch. 'Why are the Bosmer the greatest of the races?' Slrrp. Are they?"

"You don't think so?"

"It's you who said so."

"As a Wood Elf- damnit, isn't it a matter of- of national pride? When I asked this question, I hoped to pass the time on this trail. I didn't think you'd manage to fail in grasping the simple premise of the entire thing."

"National pride."

"That's right."

"So you weren't telling me how the Bosmer are the greatest of the races?"

"No! Obviously I think we-" I stopped, and stood a little taller. "The noble Cyrodil is the master of all he surveys!"

"Right, what have you lot got up to then?"

I spat on the ground. "Hmpf! We conquered Valenwood, didn't we?"

"The brass giant conquered Valenwood," said my friend, laughing, "you Imperials conquered the ledger books."

"The Imperial City," I said, continuing through the brush, "the Nine, the Bard's College, the Legion. What stone of worth in Tamriel wasn't laid by a Heartlander?"

"Hm."

"Hm?"

"Tullo, you old ape, you've convinced me. The Cyrodils are the greatest folk of the realm."

"What? No! You're supposed to- damnit, Bolorm. Anyway, the question was why, not whether."

"Why? You know: the city, the bird's college, all that."

"Bard's College! Talos ascending! Not why us, why you. Why are the Bosmer the best race in Tamriel?"

"I'm stumped."

"Aren't you always saying your folk are the most skilled archers in the world?"

"I suppose so. But any child can shoot a bow."

Exasperated, I said, "A Bosmer child, maybe. Isn't that exceptional? Or cities. You have built such beautiful cities."

"Now listen here, I've never built one city, and don't you be saying otherwise! Anyway, we forget to fix our cities, and they fall apart." Bolorm shrugged. "Do you know who are really fantastic? Centaurs."

"Centaurs."

He nodded. "I mean, they get to thunder about like a horse, but they've also got arms like any man or mer. All the horseness, all the armness. Best of both worlds: the horse world, and the arm world."

"You have arms, Bolorm. And when I tried to buy us some horses in Woodhearth you told me they were 'worthless creatures.'"

He cackled. "It's true. Horses are too big and too loud, and they trip on the roots. Those old mares in Tar Roan were especially bad, though."

I felt a very strong headache coming on, and pinched the bridge of my nose. Maybe, if I squeezed hard enough, I could just hold it all in.

"You know, Tullo," said my companion, "my father rode a fine okapi."

"Did he?" No, there was nothing to be done. The pain had curled up in my skull and bedded down for the night.

"Yes, under every great ranger is a great okapi. They are light on their hooves, see, and they make no noise. Not like the whinnying and braying of a horse. And they have such large ears. Not only can no mer hear you coming, but you can hear the wind in his fletching."

"Fascinating."

I turned to the little mer and saw him holding a large mushroom, the sort growing from every tree trunk around us. He must have plucked it from one. I could feel the hairs on my arms stand on end.

"Yes, I've decided. The okapi is the greatest of the races. Does that answer your question?" Grinning, he moved the fungus to his mouth and took a bite far larger than I would have thought possible.

I heard myself scream. "Bolorm!" I quickly closed the ground between us, knocking the cap from his hands. "The Green Pact! There could be Theins in any branch, watching us! You've killed us! By the Nine, I'm going to be eaten by some- some Bosmer."

He burst out laughing. "You men. The Pact is for the Green, not the Grey." I stared at him, uncomprehending. "How long have you been here?" he asked between guffaws. "A year? More?"

He rolled around in the underbrush and I continued on the trail. Embarrassment and anger burned in my gut, and my head throbbed. For the first time in months I was aware of the missing finger, severed and consumed in the ritual of blood brotherhood. I am sorry to say that every screaming voice of violence in my head drowned out, if only for a moment, my feelings of friendship for Bolorm.

However, oh reader, my face bore a warm smile, a certain twinkle in the eye, and an overall sense of contentment.




Short answer: Bosmer are the best race, and maybe only inside of my crazy brain.