A Colloquy of Crabs

Come youth!

The tide is turning, and we shall taste rare flesh.

Pick we will at pipes and gristle.

The sea has salted them, and soften'd on the bone.

Come youth, and you shall eat your shellful.

To which the youth enquired:

What is this limb-strewn seabed Lost-Claw?

This thoroughfare of hewn thews?

To which Lost-Claw replied:

Battle blazed here youth, Beast and Darkling strove

Upon the silent sands, all to skein a knavesong.

Look here. 'Tis Cervalas, stags' prince of silver'd tines.

Monarch of the gloaming glen, now good for feasting.

O how the hinds are mourning! He is fallen.

What would you have? Which eye?

To which the youth replied:

The left, always, if there's choice.

What thing is this? Ill-favoured I charge!

To which Lost-Claw replied:

A spriggan. Child-stealers, bloom-blighters. Sour types.

With struck-oak club adept at cracking skulls.

Lovers of lightning. A crackling lash their chieftain wields.

Try a morsel, a meaty mouthful.... More yet?

To which the youth replied:

More Lost-Claw, more! Meat so supple!

To which Lost-Claw declared:

Enough.

Fain indulgence now would spare you later pleasures.

Scuttle hither. See this duel-scarred blade?

'Tis Finvarra's only. One of a kind.

To which the youth enquired:

Who is this Finvarra? He bore a honed terror.

To which Lost-Claw replied:

Now? A spread laid for scavengers. Slimy hagfish

twisting through his innards. And headless to boot.

Then? Captain of the Troop Unseelie. A terrible aelf.

A kinsman of his king. Cruel o'erweening.

Look for his head.

To which the youth declared:

'Tis here! A hefty haul away.

No eyes. A broken ball. Fish-bitten lips.

How untopped then? What tale could his carcass tell?

To which Lost-Claw replied:

Read with me this ragging stump and we'll reason his demise.

See those scratches deep at 'neath the sunder'd neck.

I know the storied claws that rent them, so too the violet scent.

Dobhar-Chú, the otter king. A mirthy killing dealt he.

Always laughing, laying to the fray, long striking.

Pelt whiter than the White Queen's flank. War's lord

Of the Waterdogs. Unbested. Awful. Savage.

To which the youth enquired:

Aquainted well you were then, with this paragon?

To which Lost-Claw replied:

Aye, I've nipped his toe a time or two. Saucy youth!

Ah here's a hero's work.

Limbs bereft of bodies, bodies lacking limbs.

To which the youth exclaimed:

They move!

Why do they twitch? Could the tide be tugging them?

To which Lost-Claw replied:

Knowless youth thou! Twice dead they are, threshed and scatter'd.

Now try this paled shred.

Taste, do you, that necromantic nectar? O

Succulent sludge!

Veins a-clog with vivifying victuals, forsooth

'Pon a dish of darkness dine we.

To which the youth enquired:

Who served it to us Lost-Claw?

Who carved these jitter'd joints? A tang of Jack do I detect?

To which Lost-Claw replied:

Clever tasted! The tricksy lord of foxes trouble caused,

Brought brutish war upon the Beastly Court.

Our dragon queen descended, deigned to bid

Her troop march out and take the dead to task.

Unliving raised were they, and a rage of ruin faced.

So here we find them; flopping fillets larder'd.

The tide turns back, we'll tarry not, but first

I'll cut this clouded bauble from its cave...

Happy Halloween 2014!

My son! O my beloved son,
With mind all split and fell undone.
He says that something rose to meet him,
Some sewer'd froth gushed up to greet him.

Forsooth he was a charmless child,
School-yard loner oft reviled.
Sad ill-favoured in his looks,
He retreated 'neath a drift of books.

Whence he learned the things he knew
I know not, yet his knowledge grew
'Til the foulest of all truths, they fell
Within his grasp, too bleak to tell.

And when he reached but sixteen years,
All shunned and shrugged off by his peers,
He took a knife and broke a vein
Whilst chanting o'er an open drain.

We're fools he says, unknowing ants,
Then weeps and drools and laughs and rants.
My son! O my beloved son,
With mind unknit and come undone.

Alban Arthan

Happy Christmas one and all!  

Here's a Yule carol to celebrate the turning of the Wheel of the Year. Summer may not quite be a-cumen in just yet, but long balmy evenings and the gentle buzz of bees is a promise to cherish in this wild, dark and stormy time.

So feast, quaff and be merry, for the Oak King has the Throne!

SOL INVICTUS!!!

Alban Arthan

Hark the stirring snowdrops sing,

Victory to the Oaken King!

Born to rule 'til Summer's height,

Holly falls before his might.

Takes his crown in rough-barked hand,

Lays his foe beneath the land,

Hark the waking snowdrops sing,

Glory to the risen king!

The Annals of Old Moon: Happy Halloween or Happy Samhain

As a Halloween treat, why not indulge in a little reminiscence?  Click on the link to re-read last year's Samhain story on a particularly ghoulish night! The Annals of Old Moon: Happy Halloween or Happy Samhain:

Orchard Gilbert: Page 4

Orchard Gilbert: Page 3

Orchard Gilbert: Page 2

The Annals of Old Moon: Orchard Gilbert: Page 1

Grey Spear

Hello all!  Welcome back to the word hoard and happy National Poetry Day!  We've got a few things in store for you this month, so be sure to check back weekly.  We're also working away on some cool stuff to feature in the near future.  We'll give you updates as progress is made!  Thanks, as always for reading!

Grey Spear

  

Tarry not my girl at water's edge.

Hie you homeward, cast no look behind,

For comes the Grey Spear, stalking in the sedge.

No more than sticklebacks to him, our kind.

Beware his gaze, for such shall lay a bind

Upon your life and limb, so rigid still

You'll stand, with drooling jaw and death-aligned,

Your end descending swift, his craw to fill.

Comes the Grey Spear treading hungry 'pon the rill.

Celandine: Pages 3-4: Colored

Celandine (Colored/Coloured): Pages 1-2

Phil and I got to talking, and we decided to see what the pages would look like colored/coloured.  Whatdya think?

Celandine: Pages 3-4

Celandine: Pages 1-2

Game of Thrones

Hurrah! The wonderful HBO series Game of Thrones has recently returned for its third season,
and to celebrate this, here's a poem about one of my favourite characters from the series.
If you haven't watched any yet, do check it out cos it's brilliant. Not as brilliant however as the series of books the tv show is based upon. Finest tale I've read, five books in and it's not finished yet!
Check out the reviews on Amazon...

Anyway, here's the poem. Thanks for reading :)

The Spider

As you pace and plot within your tower,

Can your vision pierce the flesh and see the bones

That truly serve to frame your will to power?

O lordling, would you play the game of thrones?

They cut away my manhood as a boy,

And as I bled, I watched it as it burned.

I learned to live by ruse, and trick, and ploy,

And how to ride each tide before it turned.

I attend to every trouble, every care.

My little birds, they whisper many things.

That which I learn, I choose, or not, to share;

Such is my shield amidst this clash of kings.

Aerys? Oh, now he was truly mad.

I watched the horrors burn away his mind.

The acts that he committed made me... sad,

For 'tis true, I knew him when he could be kind.

They sneer at me, and march off to their wars,

These brutal, preening, all-unknowing lords.

I know them for their hungers and their flaws;

Such grants me shelter 'neath a storm of swords.

Robert, not well-suited to the game,

Once made a handsome sight, but little more.

The... accident that took him was a shame;

Drunken, fat, and gutted by a boar.

I shivered when I saw the raven's feathers.

I feel the breeze wax colder as it blows.

I see the warlords straining at their tethers,

Each eager to provide a feast for crows.

Joffrey? What a fierce, strong-minded child!

What more a lion could a king beget?

I fear his power has not made him mild,

But we may see him learn his lesson yet.

The maesters say this world has lost its magic,

That power now resides in axe, and lance.

Some shake their learned heads, pronounce it tragic,

That we shall no more see the dragons' dance.

But me? I've caught some rumours and some tattle,

That my little birds have flown me from the east.

I wonder if this time of blades, and battle,

One day will not matter in the least.

I've heard that when this troubled summer dies,

Our tears shall freeze, our swords will shard and splinter.

The blizzards from the north will shroud our skies,

And we shall shudder 'neath the winds of winter.

But 'til that fated day I live to serve,

And whisper to whomever sits the throne.

Some say that I will get what I deserve,

But the truth of what that is remains my own.

The members of the council come and go,

But I remain and tend my noble king.

And when the castles sink beneath the snow,

I'll nestle deep, and dream a dream of spring.

What care I which beast becrowns your helm?

I serve not you.

I serve the realm.

Totem: Pages 19-20

Totem: Pages 17-18

Firetail

Celebrating One Year of The Annals of Old Moon

Wow, it's our birthday!

It's been a great (and busy) first year. 

This coming year should be even busier, what with our continuing webcomic Totem,

and new sagas, riddles and tales from the endless depths of the Word-Hoard.

Thank you to all our readers and supporters.

(over 5000 views! Thank you!)

 

Next week: Firetail, our spring equinox special...

Totem: Pages 15-16

Totem: Pages 13-14