Here is a poem by one of my favorite heroes I’ve created: Viro.
Viro was taken, as an infant, by the wicked warlock Faltanay. He was raised as “Alfie Bröst, to become the angry and brooding wizard servant of that sorcerer.
Eventually, he discovers he is brother to the king of Mizzelay, and when his brother sets aside his rule to explore the North, Alfie has discovered his given name, and becomes King Viro (“Viro tag Rægnr”).
When he could be away from Faltanay for a short time, Viro (as Alfie) would hide in a cave amongst nature, writing poetry
as he imagined himself a hero.
This is one such poem, in English translation, and in my construction of the language of Mizzelay:
“Thundercloud, Ruling-cape, high above me.
You fly & rumble so fun & freely,
You make music with your mind,
And shine down on the scared people.
But you’re not so wicked, are you?
Beneath, you’re purple & swollen:
Above, you’re towering & bright.
Maybe you don’t mean to burn things down.
Maybe, you’re just dancing.
And the people watching you, pointing:
They couldn’t eat if you didn’t water their crops.
So don’t beat yourself up.
You don’t control the wind.”
“Þúnreklauð, Rægnineklœþ, äruf my úpa.
Ðe flaug & römpel myć freigléh & gæg,
Ðe múke saugneþ wið ðer hetsöl,
Int daugn-śægn únte freiden fölke.
Böt ðer’r myć neig weket, ár ðe?
Búneþ, ðer’r rægnenhjú int sweln:
Äruf, ðer’r skeigrëhun int breig.
Méte ðe myn nöttag spákr-dún þeignen.
Méte, ðer’r únle gæg-spente.
Int tag fölke ðe ségun, pentun:
Tá kenött ketr ef ðe nött ableit tár kröppen.
Ðíse bét-nött ðeignsöl äruf.
Ðe súþhölt-nött tag vinhaig.”
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