North of snowbound Icemule Trace, there waits an icelocked cave
Where many souls have ventured, though few venture back again.
Therein lies a skeleton within a chill white grave
With fingers locked about the sword once known as Winterbane.
Once she was an empath, and her healing hand a cure
To all the folk who sought her aid to ease their hurt and pain.
Listen, and I'll sing a tale of love's devotion pure
And how she came to fall here with the cursed sword Winterbane.
Her love Carrelan stalked the forests bearing ora blade
And long lamented lack of skill that kept him from terrain
Where his love walked: of passion and impatience he was made,
And so he sought the prison of the mad sword Winterbane.
It's said that blade was forged by the Berserker God's dark hand
And this is its dark power: those the demon-sword has slain
Are burned to ash in spirit, never more to walk the land,
And for Lorminstra's fury, that Lord named it Winterbane.
Had Alieasha known, she would have blocked Carrelan's way.
She would have counseled patience, blocked him from his path insane--
Carrelan quested bravely to the prison where it lay
And wrapped his fingers round its hilt, and unleashed Winterbane.
Enchanted past a wizard's skill, alive with golden flame
The blade possessed the warrior with skill and rage insane.
Within its grip, no trace was left of he who'd reached to claim
The sword that cuts down flesh and soul, the demon Winterbane.
Southward came Carrelan, and all those he met, he slew--
Southward came the warrior, like a blazing hurricane.
Defenders of the city gathered as the warning flew--
"Southward comes a man possessed, the tool of Winterbane."
Lady Alieasha stood behind the worried crowd
Waiting for her time to come, alert for cry of pain.
She would not lift her head to fight, for she had long avowed
Her healing hands would heal alone-- e'en facing Winterbane.
When Alieasha felt his fall, she had no thought of fear--
She pushed through to Carrelan's side, no hand could her restrain,
But there she halted, horror-struck, and could not venture near
For in her true love's hand there blazed the demon Winterbane.
They could not take it from him: any touch, the blade would claim.
As they argued what to do, her tears fell like cold rain.
She steeled herself, then forward sudden lunged to grasp the flame
The pacifistic empath slowly stood with Winterbane.
"Take his corpse," she whispered, "take Carrelan's corpse and run."
She fought the demon with her vow-- she trembled with the strain.
A shroud of flame engulfed her, burning brighter than the sun,
And somewhere at its center raged the demon Winterbane.
Slowly Alieasha sought the trail to lead her North.
For every step, the demon's fury racked her with fresh pain,
But with an empath's fortitude, she staggered ever forth
To seek the ancient prison of the mad blade Winterbane.
Myth and legend led her, and at last she finally found
The tomb of frozen rock and snow which once served to contain
The sword, which she knelt down to lay upon the icy ground.
Her bones had fused and melted. She could not drop Winterbane.
She tried to cure her injuries, but the demon-sword prevailed.
Its laughter rippled in her blood, its fury seared her brain.
Her consciousness began to fade. She knew that she had failed--
Her vow and will were far too weak to conquer Winterbane.
With fading vision, Alieasha raised her voice in prayer
And begged Lorminstra save Elanthia from a demon's reign.
With one last thought to Carrelan, she ended her life there
Impaled upon the blazing sword, berserker Winterbane.
The empath's spirit seared to ash upon celestial wind,
But not alone-- possessing her, the demon screamed in pain.
No trick of skill or sorcery could manage to rescind
An equal fate from destroying the demon Winterbane.
North of snowbound Icemule Trace, there waits an icelocked cave
Where many souls have ventured, though few venture back again.
Therein lies a skeleton within a chill white grave
With fingers locked about the sword once known as Winterbane.
North of snowbound Icemule Trace, there waits an icelocked cave
Where many souls have ventured, though few venture back again.
Therein lies a skeleton within a chill white grave
With fingers locked about the sword once known as Winterbane.
Once she was an empath, and her healing hand a cure
To all the folk who sought her aid to ease their hurt and pain.
Listen, and I'll sing a tale of love's devotion pure
And how she came to fall here with the cursed sword Winterbane.
Her love Carrelan stalked the forests bearing ora blade
And long lamented lack of skill that kept him from terrain
Where his love walked: of passion and impatience he was made,
And so he sought the prison of the mad sword Winterbane.
It's said that blade was forged by the Berserker God's dark hand
And this is its dark power: those the demon-sword has slain
Are burned to ash in spirit, never more to walk the land,
And for Lorminstra's fury, that Lord named it Winterbane.
Had Alieasha known, she would have blocked Carrelan's way.
She would have counseled patience, blocked him from his path insane--
Carrelan quested bravely to the prison where it lay
And wrapped his fingers round its hilt, and unleashed Winterbane.
Enchanted past a wizard's skill, alive with golden flame
The blade possessed the warrior with skill and rage insane.
Within its grip, no trace was left of he who'd reached to claim
The sword that cuts down flesh and soul, the demon Winterbane.
Southward came Carrelan, and all those he met, he slew--
Southward came the warrior, like a blazing hurricane.
Defenders of the city gathered as the warning flew--
"Southward comes a man possessed, the tool of Winterbane."
Lady Alieasha stood behind the worried crowd
Waiting for her time to come, alert for cry of pain.
She would not lift her head to fight, for she had long avowed
Her healing hands would heal alone-- e'en facing Winterbane.
When Alieasha felt his fall, she had no thought of fear--
She pushed through to Carrelan's side, no hand could her restrain,
But there she halted, horror-struck, and could not venture near
For in her true love's hand there blazed the demon Winterbane.
They could not take it from him: any touch, the blade would claim.
As they argued what to do, her tears fell like cold rain.
She steeled herself, then forward sudden lunged to grasp the flame
The pacifistic empath slowly stood with Winterbane.
"Take his corpse," she whispered, "take Carrelan's corpse and run."
She fought the demon with her vow-- she trembled with the strain.
A shroud of flame engulfed her, burning brighter than the sun,
And somewhere at its center raged the demon Winterbane.
Slowly Alieasha sought the trail to lead her North.
For every step, the demon's fury racked her with fresh pain,
But with an empath's fortitude, she staggered ever forth
To seek the ancient prison of the mad blade Winterbane.
Myth and legend led her, and at last she finally found
The tomb of frozen rock and snow which once served to contain
The sword, which she knelt down to lay upon the icy ground.
Her bones had fused and melted. She could not drop Winterbane.
She tried to cure her injuries, but the demon-sword prevailed.
Its laughter rippled in her blood, its fury seared her brain.
Her consciousness began to fade. She knew that she had failed--
Her vow and will were far too weak to conquer Winterbane.
With fading vision, Alieasha raised her voice in prayer
And begged Lorminstra save Elanthia from a demon's reign.
With one last thought to Carrelan, she ended her life there
Impaled upon the blazing sword, berserker Winterbane.
The empath's spirit seared to ash upon celestial wind,
But not alone-- possessing her, the demon screamed in pain.
No trick of skill or sorcery could manage to rescind
An equal fate from destroying the demon Winterbane.
North of snowbound Icemule Trace, there waits an icelocked cave
Where many souls have ventured, though few venture back again.
Therein lies a skeleton within a chill white grave
With fingers locked about the sword once known as Winterbane.