The Song of the Return, Book 1: A Little Preview

Fellow scholars, I am very excited to be showing to you today a snippet of my most monumental project yet. You are all probably familiar with the Song of the Return, perhaps the most famous Nordic saga of all time, telling the daring exploits of Ysgramor and his 500 warriors as they defeat the Snow Elves and avenge their fallen Atmoran brethren at Saarthal. But during the Sack of the Imperial City by Dominion forces, most of the surviving translations of this important classic were burnt along with the rest of the Imperial Library. But now the Crown has given me the most extraordinary honor: be the head of the 3rd translation project, and use the original Old Nordic texts to create a Modern Imperial version that flows smoothly with the language. I have been hard at work ever since this commission, so I hope that this little piece of the first Book (which is just a fancy way of saying Chapter) will please you and give you confidence in the final product. Enjoy!

– Remus Catullius, 4E 192

 

##Book 1: The Sorrow of the Ship

 

The year was twelve after the Discovery,

The land was Skyrim, the sea, of ghosts.

The day was twelve after the Night of Tears,

When Atmora was betrayed by the elves.

 

The ship was Jorrvaskr, and at its helm he stood,

Ysgramor, the great Harbinger, blond-bearded and iron-clad.

Though his ship was grand, he was pitiful,

For none but his kin were left alive.

 

Yngol and Ylgar were their names,

Both of fresh age, both strong and limber.

Yngol possessed the wiser mind,

And Ylgar the larger muscle, so himself said.

 

These three were still breathing the breath of the Hawk;

Their comrades were breathing that of the Fox,

For Saarthal of the White River was no more,

Buried and burnt by the Snow-Elf horde.

 

Just as the snow hides what is under,

The elves of Skyrim hid their true colors.

They who seemed like allies became enemies in an instant,

And ambushed Saarthal in the black of night.

 

One thousand and ten slaughtered that day,

Ysgramor’s comrades and Ylgar’s dog,

Yngol’s wife raped, his twin boys forced to watch,

And have their heads smashed into the ground soon after.

 

But five hours before, the Harbinger saw an omen,

A prophecy in his dreams, telling of this tragedy and those terrors,

A nightmare of burning buildings and blood-curdling screams,

As if a dragon was attacking from above.

 

Ysgramor knew that only his kin would live,

For that was the desire of the gods, the direction of Fate;

Only him and his kin had their rooms left unsearched,

As if a spell of forgetfulness had been cast.

 

So back to Atmora the surviving three sailed,

Having left from civil war and sorrow,

The Five Chieftains engaged in bitter feud;

Only their destruction could bring the return of peace.

 

Now united under one Chief Ulfrik,

The three knew it safe to return to the waste,

Their Wonderful Waste, desolate in the snow,

Bountiful in the sun (no longer so in our time).

 

In the distance was Jylkurfyk, the great port,

Its shipyards the envy of all sailors,

Made of the finest spruce and pine,

With twenty-seven docks, sturdy and lasting

 

So it was here that the Three would begin their quest,

The quest for sweet revenge,

That desire that pulses from the very bone,

From which the satisfaction is pure bliss.

 

So the the Warriors prayed to the Snake, master of vengeance;

For if one pricks the serpent, so too shall the serpent prick,

But ten times harder, with glaring eyes and scorching fangs,

Until the enemy lies dead, face full of agony and fear.

 

Truly, this was the god the Three needed.

Mercy was not in the minds of the elves;

Why then, should it be in that of the Atmorans?

Mercy is an arm of peace, but the muscle of war was required.

 

End of preview. More coming soon!!!