The question burned all minds,
and enspired all to find,
the awnser to solve his name,
and place the story to the fame.
Though he's still a mystery;
a name thats part of history,
as old as Nightmare's fate,
and a subject of long debate.
Still it lives to this day,
but as to where none can say,
it leaves a wake,
that none dare take,
it carves a path,
where few could last.
Beaten by the eleven land,
cripled by the burning sand,
smolten by the ranging fire,
swollowed by the ensuming mire.
Who is Hugo?
Only the Gods know.
Twisted, like an old knareled cane;
twisted, life never quite the same;
twisted, warping the love of the heart;
twisted, hoping it would never start;
twisted, twisted fate.
An age ago, in time long lost,
there was a man whos love life cost,
him nothing more then what was fair,
to be with her is all he'd care,
yet now that love has long since past,
the love she'd had would be her last,
twisted, twisted fate.
One day she'll love again,
a new man to heal her pain,
and when the tears are wipped away,
love again will bloom today,
or wilt away, never to stay,
lost again, in moods of grey,
twisted, twisted fate...
In a time of war and rage,
a blacksmith (and partial sage),
forged the first binding links,
of armor designed not to kink.
Hard as steel, and tough as plate,
made from a dragon who tempted fate,
his armor now clads them all,
from the old to the small.
Deep green with golden collar,
it makes all who find it and hollar,
but for most it marks the best,
and yet it stands as second best.
A warrior might one day say,
will this dragon lord ever pay?
his shiny scales so sweet and fine,
to clad the warrior in line.
But for now they'll battle on,
and tell their tales like Babalon,
untill the dragon lord does pay,
the green armor that always got away.
Weapons wrought deep in the earth,
with no trace or sign of evil merth,
born of steel and forged from will,
shining bright enough to kill.
But now the forge is blacken cold,
the fire wood, dark green with mold,
the iron doors are rusted shut,
the paper plans are strune about.
Will the forge be struck a new?
will the dwarven smiths renew,
the lost traits of old,
to forge steel's and gold's?
Or will the lore of tempered steel,
be lost to those with ironed zeal,
to stay ashen cold for years to come,
long gone, rembered only by some.
Oh, the old dwarven smiths of old,
who's metal crafts are to behold,
gone away, just like today,
never again in Kaz to stay.
Forging of the sword
a desire, a wish, a need;
the hammer rings on steel and anvil;
the bellow pumps as fire and steel meld;
each peice of steel folded and melded with the blade;
forever sharp, forever knowing;
forged of steels long lost to smiths;
embued with powers as strong as their wielders;
forged strait from the will, for the heart;
inset with a gem of fire to capture its purpose;
to capture the breserk rage;
powered by honor, and fueled by justice;
living testimants to their holders;
bonded by flesh and blood to their purpose;
to kill, to slay, to save, to recuse;
steel ringing to anounce its presence;
knowing it's will as its masters, loyal to the end;
and at its end it joins its master;
aiding him in the battle of eternity, marked by honor;
no other could takes its place;
the forged sword of a lost art;
but honored just the same;
the Magic Sword, the Sword of Valor.
forever... nothing lasts forever...
Here today and gone tomorrow,
lost to the deep, deep sorrows,
once was great but now has fallen,
gona to dust without men calling,
names of power, words of fear,
men who paid with lives so dear,
and now that time has swiftly past,
their names, nolonger remembered fast,
and if the world forever knew,
the cost of time to become a few,
of tibia's most chosen men,
those who'd fight to the end,
to keep their place amoung the best,
though now their names are laid to rest,
gone like they never came,
returned to nothing once again.
forever, forever, nothing lasts forever.
When the world was young, the grass was green;
No stain upon the world was seen.
No blood was spilled upon the stones,
No cries of death; or woe; or moans.
No hammers wrought beneath the earth;
No war cries, or heinous mirth.
No blades where drawn, no steel was clashed;
No bows where strung, no arrows flashed.
And yet a world so fair and pure;
Was influenced by darken' lure.
And as the darkness spread its hands;
Greed, hate, and jealousy consumed the lands.
Blood was spilled upon the walls;
And war cries echoed down the halls.
Greed was life, and death it's cost;
Hatred reigned, and love was lost.
Not elf, nor dwarf, nor human life;
Was spared the cost of evil's fief.
And as the world burned slowly still;
A gleam of hope was born of will.
Tough the dire need of strength was there;
No mere mortal could quell the darkened air.
And from the heavens did descend;
A hero of legends, to mark the end.
And still to this day the battles rage;
Upon the land where darkness reigned.
But now the light keeps dark at bay;
And life at last, is here to stay.
But the world is old and grey;
And the end may come one day.
But for now the world will be;
A place of life, and death's decree.
the blade is drawn, the steel is flashed,
a rule of life or death unhached,
a hammer blow of solid steel,
forged and tempered with untold zeel.
a source of might, and honors fight,
to slay a best as dark as night,
to live a life without respite,
of anything but darkness' spite.
and as the blade goes wizing by,
time itself would seam to lie,
as still as death, thats what it'd be,
or as quick as a blink; before you'd see.
when the sword is sheathed atlast,
and its might fades into the past,
the steel will wait forever still,
to start the dance of death, at will.
In an age of might and blood,
a gem exists to stop the flood;
of tears, and wails,
of lost men's tails.
A gem exists to halt the force,
of time itself without remorse;
and tare the vail,
so light and frail.
Can the strife of human life,
exist without the mortal fief?
can the clock,
simply lock?
Can we join the path of gods,
and walk the earth with kingships' rod;
to pay the price,
not once, but thrice?
Oh, mortal realms with god's device,
that buy the gem without fair price;
the cost of souls,
for only coals.
And can a gem so fair and pure,
fall into temptation's lure?
to live like stone,
and stand alone.
The power of life and death can be,
no mortals tool over god's decree.
from dust to dust,
without evil's lust.
The path can be, not walked by thee,
not here; not now; no man can see;
the true cost,
of life thats lost.
Voice of the Lost.
Return to topfor those whos path have fallen,
to those that death was callin'
for all allies befallen,
to the faith of the fallen.
For life that ended quickly,
with a scream that was so sickly,
with blood red and sticky,
to the faith of the fallen.
To a shield that was broken,
to a sword that was smolten,
to death itself a token,
to the faith of the fallen.
To a battle that was lost,
with the price of death its cost,
and the roads of choice they crossed,
to the faith of the fallen.
To those who sought glory,
and press on without a worry,
and find a path so gorey,
to the faith of the fallen.
From all those left behind,
to deal with tragedy unkind,
to seek peace inside the mind,
to the faith of the fallen.
To the faith of the fallen...
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