Shackled to the Age of Worms

The ditty at the ball

Velan sung this at Prince Zeech's Ball

(Hail Zeech)

The Dreadwood marching song was first penned, by an unknown soldier, in protest at King Kimbertos Skotti sending numerous Keoish soldiers to fight in the horrendous Dreadwood conflict.

Since then it has become another regular marching song, but those who would sing it are careful to sound out their company’s officers first – the song has elements from the rebellious south and anti-royalist content, and some have been flogged before for singing its verses. The song was undoubtedly written by someone from the south-west of Keoland, where anti-Royalist sentiments run high, as it is in the dialect of southern Keoland, known as ‘Garric’ – not a complete language in its own, it is a bastardisation of common with heavy Keolandish and Oeridian influences (Garric words are in italics).

The ‘Weg (pronounced, ’vaig’) is a reference to the Caisteallweg, the well-built road that runs from Niole Dra to Gradsul, along which the men headed to the Dreadwood war marched to their fate. A Merkke is the Keoish term for a gold piece.

The Dreadwood Marching Song or ‘The Butcher of Niole Dra’

Now tell me lads, frae near and far,
Ha’ ye heard o’ the butcher ‘Niole Dra’
He’s sent yer south frae his Eb’ny Throne
And he’ll drink to the life you be callin’ yer own

Yer march on the ‘Weg though yer fits are’ sore
An ah’ll wager a Merkke yer know not what its for
To the Dreadwood wer headed an’ that’s no lie
An ah’ll wager yer more in the Dreadwood ye’ll die

O’er the hill and through the vale
On army beef and mother’s ale
The Dreaded woods lads there ye’ll die
To rot as the raven plucks yer eye

Wi yer spear and yer dagger, yer nae man
A walkin’ corpse by the maister’s han’
Kimberto’s glory, yer blood will flow
Ye’ll be lucky my son if they bury yer low


If the Tyrgs don’t get yer, savages will
While the King in Niole drinks ‘is fill
When the orcs and goblins take yer life
Who’ll look effter yer wain an’ wife


An’ if yer live to see the light
O’ Seaton’s beauty in the night
What good, pray tell me, will it do
Withoot a fit tae fill yer shoe


The King has said that we must war
To save our land wer dying for
But where is he, ah cannae see
Him chargin’ sword-in-hand wi’ me!

[Chorus – repeat to fade]

(to the tune of ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’)

‘Garric’ Dialect

frae = from
fit/fits = foot/feet
yer = you/your
wer = our
maister = master
effter = after
wain = child, baby
withoot = without
cannae = cannot



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