This poem was written as a re-telling of a role-playing adventure in which the characters live during the 60-year period between the events of the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings. 6 warriors, each of different backgrounds, meet up at Lake-town with a general desire to defeat evil and work together as a fellowship to experience adventure.
Below is a four-part telling of the poem in Anglo-Saxon style (Each line has 4 stressed syllables, 2 separated by a caesura, or pause... and lots of alliteration and kenning. Kenning is a literary device used to depict objects metaphorically, such as whale-road = ocean)
THE FULL TALE OF THE WARRIORS SIX
I.
At Esgaroth The
stilted city
Town on water Ship
never sailing,
Adventure awaited. Free
folk gathered
Few to the counting Yet a strong-fingered fist
To strike the Shadow And
gain much glory.
From distant farthings Hailed the Holbytlan;
Short folk they are But
sure-hearted the Shire:
Poppy Smallburrow Landed
at Laketown,
Found a round room At
the inn "River Bottom."
The second stranger To
find our fellowship
Was Erland the Barding; A man of Dale
Bold in battle And
keen of eye,
Whose blessed blood Keeps
no cowardice.
Poorer are those Who
dwell in Mirkwood,
Woodmen and women: But rich in courage,
Their bows & their axes Fell all
foes:
So Ahir Kari Arrived
in Esgaroth.
Grimbarald was next; And
grim his face
Yet saves his scowls For
Sauron’s slaves.
The Beorning bows To
the Carrock-keeper,
And swings his blade As
the Grimmer Reaper.
In ancient days Was
Esgaroth named
By elven tongues The
Lake of Reeds;
Now fair Lindin Strode
in strength,
Wielding his wisdom And
joining our throng.
Last but not least Was
Balin the dwarf;
Young in his years Yet
hardy are they
Who live in the halls Of
the mountain-king;
Sharp is his axe And
also his wit.
These six assembled At
a humble inn
And quickly heard The
rumor-storm
That hapless scouts Of
Durin’s folk
Had disappeared. Gloomy
news
Yet perfect purpose For
a band of fighters.
To Gloin’s house We
hurried, hoping
Honor and glory (and
greater riches)
Awaited our gang. We
came before
The grandson of Nar, The
companion of Thorin;
Gloin spoke: “Find
my people!
For Balin the Old And
Oin my brother
Both are missing; They
are late to return
From the Long Marsh And
the shadows lengthen.
Find my kinsmen! Handsome
reward
Shall be given If
your quest’s fulfilled.”
Bent then his brow, Foreboding
had filled him;
His mind-eye saw His
brother drowning.
With haste we left him, Eager to gather
Supplies and a boat. That
evening, all ready,
We rested before The
early beginning.
Balin and Lindin: Strange
was their friendship,
The tree and stone Agreed
well together.
Hard-headed also And
twins in their folly,
That night they were looking For a forge to borrow.
The last smith was closing, His shop
was shuttered,
But the two spoke with him; Persuaded
him not,
As strangers they seemed Dark and
uncouth.
To the warriors’ alarm The smith raised a cry,
“Guards! Guards!” And
the warriors fled
To a welcomer place, To
the Inn that we stayed at,
Where a blazing fire And
frosty flagons
Healed what ale’d em. Then all our band
Did sleep, and night’s Star-speckled
dream-cloak
Covered our senses. The
cock later crowed.
The daylight roused us, And swiftly we packed.
Down to the docks Our
feet gladly took us,
Into the river-steed To
ride the water,
The River Running. Fiercely
we rowed,
No fish was swifter. That
night we came
To the first falls; Porters
greeted us
With manly words. We
sat at meat
Together that night, Trading
our stories.
Next day, the porters Carried
the boat
Down paths on cliffs, Such
nimble goats;
They trod the rocks And
ate our cash.
On for three days We
took the wave-road
Until we approached The
mists of the marsh
And the hair on our necks Stood up straight.
Our scouts scanned For
signs of life;
They found a trail, And
the boat was landed.
Into the marsh We
warily crept,
Following tracks That led to the forest.
Mirkwood the Great, Hider
of Shadows,
Teller of secrets If
made to confess.
Dwarves have gone missing; Earthen clues
Point to the trees And
our company followed.
After some time, A
campsite’s discovered:
A couple days old, But
abandoned and empty.
Night’s black sheet Covered
all again,
But Balin’s stonecraft Kept
us all warm.
Valor
and glory Await the adventure;
Onward
and forward We seek for the lost.
II.
Valor
and glory Await the adventure;
Onward
and forward We seek for the lost.
The darkness came As our fellowship camped.
Yet the halfling’s sight Discovered at dusk
Watchers that waited-- Quiet crows
With scorn to share: Wood Elves telling
Lindin a tale Of two dwarves down
A day to the south. The captain of elves
Was Galion the cold, No friend to dwarves
But fond of his wine, Had slept when Bilbo
Burgled the barrels To thwart Thranduil.
No wonder Galion Nursed a grudge.
After the crows Had cawed and left,
Finally the fellowship Slept and were still.
Bright broke the morning, Breakfast to
make:
I needed herbs To flavour the fish.
The elf almost Poisoned the posse
But Balin the dwarf Found the foliage.
That day we returned To the wave-steed’s side,
Darkened with doubts And mysterious tracks.
Rowing and weaving Through the perilous water,
With better skill Lindin did guide us
Through
marshy maze, The River Running
Severed in streams, And stinking swamps.
Yet faith flowers In darkened places
And hope renewed Companions’ courage.
The third day, We glided through glades
And pulled to the shore. As the sun marched
Down to her rest, We marched through bogs.
A small hill rose To greet our eyes
And all hands searched The abandoned camp.
Where have you gone, O children of Durin?
How have the folk Of Erebor vanished?
Sturdy and grim Are Óin, Gróin’s son,
And grizzled Balin, Whose father Fundin
Fell before foes In Azanulbizar
Which the elves called Nanduhirion.
If Balin survived That orcish battle,
Surely the shadow Has not extinguished
That dwarven spirit. But questions fell
From our tongues Like autumn leaves
And died as we spoke. Our own Balin,
Younger in years, But fiercely focused
On seeing some clue, Found hasty runes
On a rotting stump And dug out the secret:
A box of ivory And a scroll to the Lord
Of the Eagles in the West; We all were
dazzled
By the glorious gem, Gift of Dain
To the Wind Lord. Yet message never
Reached Gwaihir Or the Misty Mountains,
But was hidden here In secret spells.
Balin Smith Forged a fireplace
Greater in craft Than aught made before:
A micro-Moria Of wondrous stone;
That bright shafts Of light could turn
In every direction. Darkness came.
Throughout the night, Each watch was taken,
And shadows darker Than light’s absence
Pressed around. Strange splashes
And eerie lights Increased our dread
When watching; Corpse candles
Flickered faintly And the hobbit heard
Nightly noises By the foul pool.
In the dead of night, Smallburrow crept
To investigate The fishy
sounds.
Lunging into air, A troll emerged
And stood above The hapless Halfling.
Poppy fired Her first arrow
And fled for cover. Lindin next arrived
To battle troll With slayer’s doom
To make him strong. Back and forth
Did the two strive, And all the camp awoke.
The Beorning lit A lantern to see
What foul menace Threatened his sleep.
Setting it down, He leaped in the light
And held in his hands Mighty Fyrn-Bereofan,
The splitting axe Of his grandfather Balderic.
He smote the troll With a piercing blow,
Yet the monster was tough. Both elf and
Beorning
Traded blows with the brute; And Balin
Smith
Joined our fray. Poppy Smallburrow
Nocked an arrow, Aimed with gleaming
Eye at the enemy, Sent the spinning shaft
Over the lantern’s glow, Sped between tree and elf
As tiny lightning Struck its target:
Troll trembled As the door of its life
Was unlocked by a key Both swift and terrible.
Enraged, it bellowed And vainly plucked
The deadly dart From its hellish hole,
Only to seal its doom When blackish blood
Spurted fresh from That mighty neck,
And fell forward In the brackish slime.
Not to be outdone, the doughty dwarf
(that Balin, heretofore Described in full)
Leaped to bury His blessed blade
In the hide of the troll, Yet miscalculated
And buried it instead In the behemoth’s buttock.
Then early light’s Stealthy approach
Was proven when The troll turned back
To stone again. Undeterred,
Our noble dwarf Added insult
To injury when he Used stonecraft skills
To turn that troll Into a fireplace and shelter
All-in-one. The
weary fellowship
Took rest and scanned For further signs
Of missing dwarfs. Ahir, quiet Woodman,
Scouted a track That dwarves once walked.
We gathered our goods And followed the trail…
Valor
and glory Await the adventure;
Onward
and forward We seek for the lost.
III.
Valor
and glory Await the adventure;
Onward
and forward We seek for the lost.
When last we chanted The tale of the heroes,
Ahir woodman Had traced the tracks
Of the missing kin Of Gloin the dwarf.
Before we followed The discovered clue,
We rested again On that same hill.
On Grimbarald’s watch His eyes grew weary;
Did not notice Serpent staring
Nor did he see Its falling form
Until too late. Constrictor’s coils
Grasped Grimbarald In squeezing song,
Each loop of snake A deadly stanza
Pulling the man Toward death’s refrain.
The Beorning’s bulging Muscles were no match
For the sly serpent, And all he could do
Was call for help. Smallburrow roused
Herself from sleep, Sensed trouble,
Heard the hero’s Hoarse cries.
Waking the rest, The Halfling hurried
And vainly cut With dagger blade
The mighty beast. By now fair Lindin
Arrived to seize The spiral strength
But found it hard. With valiant blow
He thrust his sword But fate drove blade
Past snake to plunge Into the shoulder
Of the Beorning. Darkness shrouded
His senses as he Fainted from the blow.
Yet Grimbarald’s friends Betrayed him not
But bravely stood Over their comrade,
Stabbed and hacked That snake to death.
Poppy Smallburrow Used healing arts
To aid the man. All was calm.
Yet evil lurked Above the trees
While tired travelers Lay down to sleep
As Poppy took The last watch of the night.
Many eyes glinted Before they sprang.
But swifter than spider Was the hobbit’s hearing
And two war needles Smote the shadows
In the gloomy trees, And fell beasts
Dropped dead Out of the branches.
By the time Courageous comrades
Arrived, they found The hobbit retrieving
Her quiver’s quota. Back to camp
Again they yawned. They cleared the cobwebs
From their eyes And continued on
Their perilous journey Through marsh and muck.
Back in the boat On the fifth morning,
The company rowed Down Running River
(Though sluggish be Its wandering ways)
And followed the traces Of dwarven doom.
The lively stench Of Rotting River
Flowed from Mirkwood To join Celduin.
Past this foul Confluence of chaos
Drifted our island Of hope and hardiness,
Followed further To shallow fens.
Grimbarald and Poppy Stayed in the boat
While the rest Searched for signs
As light waned Toward gloaming-time.
Their eyes found joy When saw in the water
A dwarfish boat; But gladness turned
To sorrow’s surprise At the sunken state
Of the small vessel. Claw marks
Scratched the surface Of their wave traveler.
Further in the fen, We spied bone-piles.
Sensing foreboding, The band of companions
Pressed onward With careful courage.
Lighting a lantern, We hooded the sun-spill
And ventured forward Into the tangled
Vines and vexations Of
the Long Marshes.
After dark, three in the wave-steed
And three in the water, Who pulled them deeper
Into the net. One of us remembered
Some lore: the Wood Of Hanging Trees
Is the place we had come. All too soon
We found out why They call it that…
For gallows-weed Is their other name.
Our stealthy boat Glided past trunks
And darkened vines. Fast now, Balin
Was attacked above But not by beast.
The very woods Are bent against
Our good quest, And sought to slake
Their thirst for death By jerking the dwarf
Up in the air, Choking with vines
Like living ropes. Down in the boat
Lay the Beorning With fear and fatigue,
Helpless to help. Erland and Ahir
Were grabbed by the weed, Pulled to dangle
Above their friends By the fell trees.
What horror when The things of earth
Do strive to kill The sons of earth!
As if a mind Were filling trees
And vines with malice. Bent were they,
Bent to harm us, Waylay and destroy.
Yet elf and Halfling Did not forsake us;
Of great worth was Their friendship shown.
Poppy’s arrows, Keen as always,
Bit the vines To break two free.
Balin bit his own With arrows of
His dwarven teeth And fell in the boat.
Our rage was roused Against the creepers;
With flame and blade We fought back well.
We blazed a trail For fellowship’s freedom;
We found a patch Of clearer sky
Where stars shone Onto our boat.
We had some peace, And made our camp
Without a fire. Inside our ark
The warriors six Were huddled down
To catch our breath. I saw in the heavens
The Swordsman of the Sky Passing over
Our small company, And drew some hope
For our grim quest. Where have you gone,
O Durin’s folk? Where do your axes lie?
Then into sleep My head soon nodded.
The sixth day started With a crow on our mast,
That flew away Before all had woken.
The battlefield’s bird Had flown to the south
So our fellowship followed, Half in the
muck
And some in the boat. The fen grew lighter
But misty were the trees In the distance beyond.
Soon we had dragged Our supplies to those trees,
And spied 12 spies Whose feathered heads
Stared our way With coldest glances.
Ahir bent His mighty bow
And loosed an arrow To find a mark,
But the crows departed. Soon we saw
More claw marks On tree trunks.
We went further To find some ruins
Drowned by the fen, And a choice to make:
Open water To the southeast,
Or an embankment That led to a hill.
Dry land we chose And scouted the slopes.
There we had time To make a small camp,
Eat our rations, And kindled a fire.
We held our watches In twos to protect
Each other from danger. That night
Balin Smith Pulled out the gem
That Dain made gift To the eagles’ lord.
He caressed the jewel And fell asleep,
His hand open. A crow snatched
The sparkling gem And flew away.
Ahir chased it But the dwarf was fey
And took his aim With stone and stick
At the woodsman. An arrow grazed
The crow’s wing And the gem was dropped.
But dragon’s greed And treasure lust
Had grazed the wing Of Balin’s soul.
He fought to take The jewel fair
To keep it himself. Here is the sorrow,
The tale of the fight That threatened the friendship
Of the warriors five With the young stonesmith.
The gem was finally Given to Lindin
Who kept it high In the tree’s branches
Where he slept, yet fell Like strange fruit
In the night. Balin came
To his senses And regretted his deeds.
The company rested And sought to sleep.
A bell sounded, Distant and remote,
Beorning, hobbit, Barding all left
To follow the call And spell’s trance.
Behind were the dwarf, Tightly tied up
To the wood, and the elf Asleep in the wood,
And the woodman too. How much would
Could the woodman Budge, if a woodman
Could budge wood? It mattered not,
Since Ahir also Failed to resist
The enchantment. He walked away
While elf freed dwarf And they followed together.
They saw the tracks Of their friends
Disappearing Into the woods
Along with familiar Tracks of two dwarves
That we had long Looked to discover.
Down the hill Went the fey woodman,
Walking to the edge Of the water and ruins.
A deep pool beckoned And the warrior-friends
Held Ahir Kari From a strange summons.
Where have all gone Into depths of the earth?
What weird foe Has summoned us all?
And what greater power Can bend the aims
Of the darkness to serve A greater good?
Illuvatar knows. The quest continues…
Valor
and glory Await the adventure;
Onward
and forward We seek for the lost.
IV.
Valor
and glory Await the adventure;
Onward
and forward We seek for the lost:
Erland the boldest Man of Dale,
Ahir Kari, Man of Mirkwood,
Grimbarald, Man of the Carrock,
Lindin the Elf Of the Woodland Realm,
Balin the Stout Dwarf of Erebor,
Poppy Smallburrow, Hobbit of the Shire.
These warriors six Had pledged their word,
Their wits, each sword And axe and arrow,
All to succor Gloin’s kinsfolk
Vanished into The Long
Marshes.
This mighty band Was cleft in two:
The quest in danger From the distant toll
Of the Marsh Bell. Enchantment and evil
Divided the fellowship ‘Tween open sky
And caves underwater. Poppy, Erland,
And Grimbarald too Woke on steps
Ruined and crumbling, Free from the spell
Of the bell of the marsh. Deep underneath
The surface they were, Glowing moss
Growing on tunnel Beyond the steps.
Together the travelers Rose to explore.
The dim tunnel Led to a cavern,
Vaulted and vast And the home of deep shade
(And worse, as we Were soon to find).
Axeless, the man Whose master was Beorn,
Acutely embarrassed At being in nightclothes,
Borrowed the sword Of Poppy Smallburrow,
Though it seemed as if He held but a knife.
Into the darkness Boldly the Halfling
Followed the tracks Of Balin and Oin.
Behind her came The Beorning and Barding
To subterranean Passageways old.
A brief exploration Rendered surprises!
A marsh dweller Stood and scowled
With glowing eyes And fearsome claws.
It shuffled toward Erland the fighter,
Exchanged blows And bites for damage.
Still the Barding Met it bravely,
Lured it out Of the narrow tunnel,
For the halfling’s shaft to find its mark
And bring it down. Erland finished it.
Close call, For others may come.
The next tunnel Showed signs
Of fleeing footsteps, So wisely we went
Further across The cave in the gloom.
Along the wall, The company saw
A chimney’s ruins. Grimbarald looked
Up through the hole, And found an exit.
Daylight’s well Reached the cavern
Far below. Crow feathers
Littered the floor. A rope dangled
But no one pulled it; Bells may be
At the ends of things, And we had enough
Of bells, bells, Bells, bells,
We’d had enough Of crows and bells.
Nevermore Did we want to hear them;
Poe-try’s fine But even poets
Can have enough Of blasted bells.
So there we were: Two ways of escape
But two dwarves To discover. Hark!
Some marble steps We found ahead:
Descending down To a set of doors,
Sturdy yet battered; Scratched with claws
Of dreadful beasts. We knocked with hope
And waited for answer. Feebly we heard
A muffled reply, And the bolt was opened.
Old Balin and Oin Were still alive,
Starving and weak But near death’s door.
Behind us stamped The feet of friends
And our fellowship Was reunited!
Quickly we greeted Dwarf, elf, and man,
Who followed tracks Of the trail of our trance
To the murky pool And hidden tunnels
To find our initials Carved by the steps
And hurried to catch us In this craven cavern.
Well met we were, And smiles sprang
To darkened faces: Then died in a moment
When screeches echoed Across the room
And our hearts froze In fear of pursuers,
Of marsh dwellers Whose evil hunger
Would make this place Our grave and tomb.
Should we strike For the watery tunnel?
No good, for the crowd Of shambling creatures
Came that way. What then, to the chamber?
To bar the doors Like the dwarves had done,
And gnaw on leather When our food was gone
And wish for death In the thick darkness?
No! There is glory In a shrewd departure,
In a desperate attempt That stands some chance.
Quickly our pact Was made with each other,
But not quick enough. We fled across
To the ancient chimney, Bid the hobbit
To clamber above To stand as a guard
And wait for the rest. The cries of the beasts
Came nearer now, And as we ran
We formed a defense, To ward off the blows
For the duo of dwarves And buy some time.
Erland assisted them, Yet Ahir, Grimbarald,
Young Balin and Lindin All loosed their
weapons
And arrows let fly. Balin had brought
The Beorning a present; His great splitting-axe,
Abandoned at camp, To gladden the man,
So the dwarf handed The axe back to him.
Grimbarald broke Into laughter, for ‘twas
The blade of Balderic, His wise grandfather,
Named Fyrn-Bereofan, Ancient Bereaver
And cleaver of orcs, Wargs, and attercops
When Balderic’s forefather Lob-Hunter slew
Giant spiders In yesteryear
Near the dim mountains Of grim Mirkwood.
Without any armor, The Beorning did battle
And hewed with his axe The first of the dwellers
That came upon him. Ahir and Balin
And Lindin were fierce In their blows to their foes,
For the time allowed Oin and Balin
To start their climb Up the shaft to the sky.
The Warriors Six Were reduced to Four
When Balin helped His kin of Erebor
To escape the doom. Hardy were we,
Yet the claws and jaws Of the marsh dwellers
Tore our armor, Tore our skin,
And crowded around Two score deep.
Lindin was wounded, Desired to stay,
But we waved him on To help the others.
Desperate now Was the stand of the Three.
Woodman, Barding, Beorning all brave,
Battled the monsters, Hacked, slashed,
Parried and pierced The fell dwellers.
Yet on they came Relentlessly
And the Beorning fell Under their bodies.
Courage then flamed In the heart of Erland,
Leaped to defend His fallen comrade.
With bitter lessons He taught the beasts
To fear his spear. The Man of Dale
Spilled the blood Of the Marsh’s minions,
Feared not their fight But dreaded defeat.
Now stood only Two, And they were fey.
Then from beyond The deadly din,
Pure notes poured Down heaven’s well,
A song of strength From their friends above
And lifted their hearts To endure this hell.
With renewed power, The Barding broke
Away from his enemies, Carried the fallen,
Ran to the side Of the good woodman,
Covered Ahir As Ahir Kari
Pulled the Beorning’s Unconscious body
Into the chimney. Erland faced
The creature-horde Of the Long Marshes.
He stood in the hearth Where ancient fires
Had once blazed In happier days
When the safe Road Of the Old Forest
Had provided places For weary dwarves
To rest their burdens And warm their hands
Between the Mountains And the Iron Hills.
That fireplace now Was cold and still,
But the Man of Dale Kindled his wrath
And furiously beat Back the beasts
As only One Remained to fight.
Up the air-road Flew these eagles.
But the burden Of Beorn’s man
Slowed them down. Over and over
Erland was attacked As Marsh dwellers
Climbed after them. Out of the chimney
Emerged on the hill Ahir, Grimbarald…
But before the Barding Could climb free,
The monsters raked Erland’s back
With cruel claws And he fell unconscious
Towards the hole. Were it not for the arms
Of his companions Who carried him out.
The beasts feared The day’s eye
So scrambled back Into their lair.
All was quiet For a short rest.
Poppy was able To heal the Barding
And the Beorning Enough that the party
Could get to the boat And return to Laketown.
Ahir and Poppy Guided the wave-rider
Through the Marshes To the River Running.
Finally they reached Their old campsite
With the rotten stump. Only once did they hear
The Bell of the Marsh Toll to enchant them;
All but young Balin Shambled to follow.
That night the dwarf Saved our lives
And the next morning Found us all tired.
Half-alive in the boat, Grimbarald sighed…
Though thankful for The eight surviving,
Fyrn-Bereofan Was lost forever.
The axe of his ancestor Had dropped in the fight,
Was still in the cavern Of the foul brutes
Who almost ended The Warriors Six.
Grimbarald sang A song of mourning
For the splitting-axe He would wield no more.
There let it lie, Mused the Beorning,
A mute testimony To the Marsh shadow-spawn
That the courage of comrades Overcame evil
To rescue the hapless And deny them their prize.
Their lair was despoiled, And thus their defeat
Would e’er be declared By the blade on the floor.
And so the companions Returned up the river,
Rowed out of reach Of the curséd bell,
Regaled the porters By the waterfall,
Took the lake-path Toward Esgaroth.
Then they could see The ship of the Master
Of Lake-town coming, With Gloin onboard,
And people cheering. Thus were they welcomed
As heroes come home And the time of their resting
And healing had come. Let ale flow,
Beards wag, Tales be
told,
Thanks given. All shall be well.
Valor
and glory And adventure they gained,
Onward
and forward! For they found what was lost.
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