A BLOODY REST FOR THE GHOST-KING OF DAGGERFALL
Hearken the tale of royal blood Most fouly spilt, and of th' unrest That from the grave summons the ghost Of Old Lysandus; the late king, Slyly fell'd by Orken dagger, Clamours "Revenge!" in Daggerfall.
His ghostly host, after night-fall, Such grave fright spread, to curdle blood, Pursuing by spectral dagger. From Daggerfall unto Wayrest, Sentinels nightly spy the king From death return'd, an accurs'd ghost.
Lysandus, 'fore he gave up ghost, And was yet king of Daggerfall, A great host led against the king Of Sentinel. They shed much blood O'er Beton Isle, sowing unrest, In Iliac Bay, at drawn dagger.
Before Cryngaine, sharp'ning dagger, The field a-mist, thick as a ghost, Each knight prepares, lays lance in rest, Ready for war, in line they fall. Yet, that day's battle's first-shed blood Cours'd blue through the veins of the king.
The hidden truth of the late king Is riddled with cloak-and-dagger; A secret writ in royal blood, Whisper'd quietly, as a ghost. Let naught of it in wrong ears fall Lest ye likewise be laid to rest:
Crafty Lord Woodborne of Wayrest Arranged for Orcs to slay the king: The foulest fate e'er to befall A royal soul. Hack'd by dagger, Crush'd by club. Buried, in cold blood, Unblest. Thus curs'd, awoke the ghost.
O, RESTLESS CURSE OF DAGGERFALL! TO SEAL THE TOMB OF THE KING'S GHOST CAUSE THOU TO FALL THE TRAITOR'S BLOOD.
