The Saga of Caeross and Elena
In the time before the thunder called,
Ere fate was forged in storm and gold,
There strode a man through Dál nAraidi,
A chieftain proud, both fierce and free.
Caeross ap Lugaith was his name,
A warlord crowned in battle’s flame.
Sword in hand and harp in tow,
A man of mead and fleeting woe.
He sang of love, he sang of war,
And hearts would weep when he rode no more.
Beside him, sworn in oaths unbroken, Elena verch Ffram, death’s pale token. Priestess of Morda, keeper of souls, Where Caeross wandered, she made whole. Her hands could call the dead to speech, Through her, the lost found voice to reach. They danced on the line ‘tween love and duty, A bond of fate, both sharp and beauty. Yet fate is cruel and would not stay, Their paths were set another way.
In time his blade made legends bright: He slew the Corpse-King in the night, Broke the Hag’s red coven dread, Wrestled the Stag of Crotha dead. He claimed the Sword of Seven Names From ghostly lords with whispering claims. His warband cheered his name in halls, As harp strings rang from oaken walls. Yet all his might and all his mirth, Could not chain love nor tether worth.
Then came the oath, the vow of wrath, To walk alone the death-marked path. For Malruth vile, the grave-defiler, Had stained the land with horrors viler. No host he called, no banners flown, For vengeance is a burden lone. Yet Elena came, by fate or will, For she had scores of her own to kill.
Upon black earth where tombs lay shattered, Where wraiths still wailed and bones lay scattered, A dragon woke in Malruth’s keep, A thing of death that knew not sleep. On Caeross’ shield its talons tore, Yet blade met marrow, thunder’s roar! And though its jaws did crush him whole, He struck one last and shattered soul.
Malruth laughed upon the hill, Yet Elena’s will was stronger still. Through word of gods and hand of light, She turned his darkened flesh to blight. And thus they fell, both beast and master, Yet neither won the end sought after. For though they triumphed, there they died, And side by side their kin them lied.
In mounds apart they took their rest, Yet fate would see their bond expressed. For where their bodies long had lain, The pine trees grew and met again. Roots entwined beneath the loam, A love unyielding, a buried home. Yet death is not the end of all, For in the storm, the heavens call. Sigmar’s hand would claim them then, To walk the world as gods, not men.
Thus Caeross rose, a king no more,
Kyros Vrax, that thunders bore.
And Elena, pale and stern,
Would walk where past had ceased to burn.
Yet though they stride as storm’s demand,
The roots still twine beneath the land.