HESE ARE THE DAYS OF LOST LORE,

Told through the dusty mouths of the stone faces, 

Hewn by the hands of elders born in days long past. 

Listen! For they tell now of  Eljaser,

Swan Queen and Host of the Golden Hall.

From the high kings of the gilded lakes

She was descended, and oft took the form

Of a pale swan, sitting atop the lake waters.

She was a creature unmatched in beauty and strength,

The wife of Torgrund the Gray,

A warrior who led the mighty men of the east

Where dragons were hunted.

The two had met in the great golden valley,

Where Torgrund came, alone,

Seeking the arcane arts of the old ones.

There magic abounded,

Where the songs of the earth were loud.

Torgrund found himself bested

By the powerful Swan Queen.

Her strength of limb catching him by surprise.

She let him live and venture into her lands,

Knowing his heart was pure.

They had wed on the first summer's eve

At the dawn of a new age,

In the gardens of the high kings.

In this place Torgrund built his wife a hall,

A stunning and mighty place,

Where many came to wonder at its fine construction,

And dine with the welcoming Eljaser.

They lived together there for many seasons,

Ever loving one another deeply.

But in their peace, they knew not

What watched them from afar:

Haranthal the Slayer, fiend and bringer of woe,

Heir of late Heloth, King of the Under-Deep.

Haranthal beheld Eljaser through visions 

Conjured by seance and spell.

Her beauty roused within him a mighty lust,

And he visited her in dark dreams,

Offering her promises of power and riches

Never seen by men or the Gods above.

But she would not accept such things—

Her love for Torgrund was so great

No riches, no offer of power, could debase it.

Haranthal played his flute made of onyx stone— 

Not one had ever resisted his music,

And as the Fiend predicted, the Swan Queen

Fell deep into a trance, and would not wake.

Upon waking, Torgrund was grieved and distressed,

Knowing not what illness had befallen

The fairest Eljaser.

When he had wept and cursed enough,

Haranthal came to him, on grave wings like a crow,

Disguised as a wise woman.

“Dear child,” she softly spoke,

“I heard thy curses and thy wailing

From afar as I wandered, and I wonder— 

Have you need of my aid?

I am gifted in the ways of high magic,

Surely there is some little good

I can impart to you, who suffers.”

Torgrund took the deceiver into his house

And showed the Shapeshifter his sleeping wife.

“She will not wake, and I know not what I will do!

She is my love, my light, I cannot think without her at my side.”

Then Haranthal said,

“She is cursed by a fiend,

A black art has been worked 

In her pure mind.

I must take her away with me,

Please, sir, help me take her

Quickly to my cottage in the south.”

Then Torgrund did so, 

And they trode to the dwelling

Haranthal had made

In the southern lands of Wode,

Where the elven king once dwelled. 

Their whispering magic was all

That now remained in the wind.

This dwelling, a warm cottage,

Was a clever illusion to fool the princely warrior 

Whose mind was dulled by fear.

“Go now,” said the crone,

“And return in a fortnight.

Then my work will be done,

And ye shall have your bride whole again!”

S SOON AS TORGRUND LEFT FROM HIS SIGHT,

Haranthal revealed his true and terrible form

And took up the Swan Queen. 

He spoke a powerful curse over Eljaser,

To bind her tongue, prevent her magic

From taking the form of the swan. 

Then, spreading his black wings, he flew with her 

Past the high mountains to the south,

Farther than any man dared tread

Over the earth. 

The dark one flew above the white peaks 

Which walled the thrashing seas

At the ends of the earth— 

And down to his fortress deep, under those oceans. 

In that thrice-cursed abode

Haranthal lay his prey down,

Upon an altar. 

He roused her then, and she saw him,

She cried out, but her voice was silent— 

Haranthal’s curse held fast.

He lay his clawed hands upon her,

But he could not have her yet, despite his black arts.

Eljaser remained strong of limb,

Fought him fiercely, wounding him with her hands. 

Haranthal was afraid, calling to his servants,

Seven of whom it took to bind Fair Eljaser. 

Such wrath was born in the dark prince, 

He flung her into his deepest cells,

And bound her with black chains, 

Forged to shackle the fiercest fiends

Of that abyssal fiefdom. 

He darkened her chamber,

Refusing her the comfort of light

She had known in her dwelling above— 

Until she would be his.

FORTNIGHT HAD NOT YET COME TO PASS,

But the warrior Torgrund,waking from a nightmare,

Returned to the cottage of the wise woman.

He found only a glade where once had been her abode.

Then Torgrund the Gray, 

Realizing he had been fooled,

Howled in rage and sorrow.

So loud was his lament, so fierce was his anger,

That a mighty god heard from on high— 

This lordly one, Bafangrim named,

Flew down from the high realms 

Taking the shape of a white owl.

He landed before the mourning Gray

With a thunderous sound, he spoke,

Blessing Torgrund with a vision of victory, 

Saying, “Mighty Torgrund,

Long have you worked good upon the earth. 

You shall see your beloved again!

She has been taken by Haranthal, 

The Foe, Slayer of Men.

Take heart! Gather your men, 

You shall lay waste to his wicked kingdom!”

Then Torgrund the Gray, Lover of Eljaser,

Rose up and drew his blade, swearing before the god

To see this vision come to fruition.

Then Bafangrim spoke to him,

“Give me your blade, and I will see to it

Eljaser survives untouched until your coming.”

Torgrund obeyed, and imparted

His great blade to Bafangrim.

Then the owl returned to the sky,

Flew to the forges of Kastalainn,

The Earth-Giant, one born of a cosmic seed.

With the blade of Torgrund, and Bafangrim’s magic,

The giant made the weapon a blade so mighty

That he called it the Father-Sword— 

A slayer’s weapon, a true foe-hammer!

Bafangrim took it up again and flew

To the realms of Haranthal, 

And sneaked his way down

To the chambers of Eljaser.

He found her sullen, and bound, languishing

In the darkest depths of the sea-fortress.

Bafangrim then presented the arcane blade,

Which she took up and bore.

Then Eljaser inquired of the god, 

“Will you grant me the strength

To see my love again,

And to wield this weapon,

So graciously given,

Against my enemy?”

The Owl-god did so, in his tongue, 

which was older than time,

He blessed her, filling her with power.

Bafangrim then flew  away

To guide Torgrund and his men,

Whom he called, from the corners of the land,

To the secret fortress of Haranthal.

Filled with strength bestowed by love, 

And the desire to embrace Torgrund again,

Eljaser broke her chains, raged through the fortress,

Hunting Haranthal, slaying his servants.

Wielding anger and scorn, she found

The throne where the Slayer sat,

And met him there.

Haranthal the Slayer, son of Heloth, 

Heir of the Under-Deep, cried out in fear

At the sight of the Swan Queen.

He then ran, and she pursued,

Catching him quickly by the hair of his head.

Haranthal the Coward she called him,

And smote him unceremoniously at the neck

With the Father-Sword, forged by the Lords.

With one swing she slew him,

Letting his head fall upon the stone.

Then the Swan Queen, daughter of the lake,

Host of the golden hall,

Sat upon the throne of the Under-Deep,

And commanded the subjects of Haranthal

With all authority.

They feared her anger, and obeyed her,

Hiding from her sight as she awaited her lover.

Very soon after, the deep fortress

Was assailed by Torgrund, fifty Strong men at his side,

Guided by Bafangrim,who now appeared 

As a bear with bloody fangs.

They murdered many of the denizens

Of that place in their wrath.

But breaking through the gates of the fortress

They found the army of Haranthal 

Had laid down their arms.

Surprised at the surrender

Of the fierce-faced deep ones, 

Torgrund went up to the throne room

And found his lover awaiting him.

She rushed into his arms and embraced him,

Tears of joy on her fair face.

Then she gave him a precious gift:

The head of Haranthal,

Which she had taken in one stroke.

Then the laughter of Torgrund and his men

Echoed through the Under-Deep 

As they left with their pride,

The great queen, never to return.

HEN TORGRUND AND ELJASER

Returned to their land,

Ruling the seas and the jutting peaks.

The Swan Queen, taking her ethereal form,

To glide again over shimmering waters. 

They bore many sons and daughters,

Who became heroes and kings and queens of the earth. 

The sky-lords looked upon them with favor,

And they prospered.