The Faerfolk's Edda - The Lay of Dalkatân
The Prince of Greed and Generosity; of Avarice and Sacrifice. The Creator and Destroyer.
"Elven Philosophers once described their view of the world as a grand tapestry made of countless harp strings that one could pluck and play at leisure to any tune one wished, that is the power that the faerfolk possessed in their heyday. Or, at least, that is what their singer's say.
But their story of creation is, indeed, a remarkable one. Even if 'a story' is all it is. For their gods, fools and sinners all, are ne'er worshipped as idols of great renown, but of cautionary figures of sin and shallow character.
And the first of these sinners was Dalkatân; The Prince of Avarice; the Maker, the Hoarder the Kindler. He who forged dragons into being. He who coveted his creations with fiery greed. He who lit the wick of the world, and set ablaze the sparks of life, ignited by his Father's searing gaze.
The verse that follows describes our fair Prince's birth, and the whittling of his first creations, translated by yours truly from the original Brentiri, whose skalds and singers first set the stories on great stone tablets that decorate the long halls of the old Jaerls of Brentir. For millennia before that, of course, the elven singers had swapped the tales with naught but voice and pitch, committed, not to stone or parchment, but solely to memory... the ancient elves boasted an undying memory, with thoughts and feelings that would pass, like a Brentriman's axe, from father to son; from mother to daughter.
The vestige of these memories, if memories they are, form the bones of every story that has ever been uttered in this world; from snow to sand and storm to storm.
And this is where those stories started."
Greenjack Jorkin
The Lay of Dalkatân
The Sun is the father, all-seeing and wise,
That burns out the vision of all prying eyes.
And soars through eternity, growing in size,
Nameless for none lived to name Him.
Nameless He burns and nameless He goes.
Nameless he grants his fair fire to foes;
Like famine and frost, He fed and unfroze,
Who then raised their hands to proclaim Him,
*
Lord, so He is, whose watch is unending,
Who sheds his fair radiance on all souls depending
On nought but their being alive and attending,
To matters from petty to grand.
But through his long ages of warming and gifting,
He settled himself by a cold world a-drifting,
Dressed all in ice and eternally shifting
With snows that swarmed o’er the land.
*
“What ails you, sister,” the father enquired,
And gave she an answer both hollow and tired,
“My last breath was spent on the daughter I sired;
Hôdalar, Queen of Despair.
She alone rules over sorrow and snows,
She alone wanders, surrounded by foes,
That curse her, and shun her and whisper of woes,
That douse any hopes she may bear.”
*
“As you bore a daughter, so I’ll bear a son,
And in their fair coupling Hope shall be spun,
And gifted to any, to all and to one,
To strengthen all hearts to a man.”
And so the wise father, he plucked from his rays,
A son gold and wondrous to brighten the days,
And fill up the cosmos with music and lays
Of that Sole Prince of Fire; Dalkatân.
*
His skin shone as copper, his hair was spun gold,
His arms numbered eight, and each hand did hold,
A life giving fire to forge and enfold,
And bring precious breath into being.
His form it was sinew, well-muscled and lean,
And wore he a robe of spun silver and green,
His eyes were bright emeralds, kindly and keen,
That sparkled with wisdom all-seeing.
*
“Build ye a mount, and down ye must fly,”
So the Prince plucked the emerald that was his left eye,
And wrought it with fire that quenched in the sky,
And gifted it cunning and guile.
Then set it with scales, a tail and wings,
And fire would soar from it’s maw when it sings,
I name it a dragon, companion of kings,”
And the sun bore a fatherly smile.
*
“This cold world is yours to feed and enthrall.
So build ye a home, a hearth and a hall,
And share your fair fortune to any and all,
And bring joy the sole and the masses,
So while Hodalar dwelt in the high northern skies,
Dalkatân settled on the southern most rise,
And swore he would see to the winter’s demise,
And sow a green world from its ashes.
*
“Now build ye a servant,” and the prince soon obeyed,
And he looked at the cold world on which he’d been laid,
And took white from the snow and black from the shade,
And set it with blue from the rime,
Then he hallowed the servant with speech and with feather,
As swift as a shadow to brave any weather,
Then spun he a leash, a fine silver tether,
That stretched through all distance and time.
*
“Magpie I name you, now northwards you go,
Through whispers and sorrows, through blizzards and snow,
And find that fair maiden e’er laden with woe,
And serve her in death and in duty.”
And as his creation took wing to the air,
Dalkatân lifted his eight hands in prayer,
And laid he a fortress of sandstone so fair,
Not a fortress built since match its beauty.
*
For eight shining towers near pierced the sky,
While eight blinding beacons burned from on high,
But surrounded by frost, so the Prince winked an eye
And saw the world suitably gifted.
So from the eight fires he held in his hands,
The blizzards around him soon melted to sands,
That danced on grand gales to far distant lands,
And thawed the cold ground where they drifted.
*
And the world when it melted was barren and sparse,
A thousand bare islands of granite and grass,
Divided by waters too vicious to pass,
But the Prince’s resolve never wavered.
He gathered the waters and turned them to seas,
He planted the forests and bundled the trees,
The mountains he carved and cloaked in a breeze,
And sunlight was cherished and savoured.
*
“My name’s Dalkatân, let all the world hear me,
If you will but pledge to e’er love me and fear me,
I’ll grant you the gifts of the Sun who did rear me,
And blessed me his fatherly pride.”
And Hôdalar wept for her fears had been sated,
To see the green world her fair Prince had created.
Then Dalkatân sat, and there he awaited,
His hopeful but sorrowful bride.
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