Movements of Ashbourne
The Movements of Ashbourne are a collection of poems written and recorded to remember the past of the Forduni people.
Movement 1 - Discordant Three
You know them three as a Warrior proud, a Sir pure and a Tinker excel,
Greymoore, Swordbract and Von Herstel.
Three lost in land of demons and monsters, rot and smell,
Knowing then they are deep in hell.
Greymoore he gathered his troops, his followers blindly trusting,
The new fate of theirs not so adjusting.
Greymoore he formed a plan, to build a new home on land disgusting,
Using black bricks and tools busting.
Swordbract he formed a church in that town, a place of solace,
of peace, of clarity, a plan so flawless.
Swordbract he formed a cult in that chapel, a people so clawless,
of doom and gloom, a place so callous.
Von Herstel she looked at the mess, thought a plan and made a pact,
"Friends, this land eats us and that's a fact!"
Von Herstel she rose up to further her plan and act,
"Fight and die I haven't backed!"
You know them three, the Warrior stubborn, the Sir docile and Tinker in action,
Conflicting ideals they had, birth to three faction.
One seeking glory till death, one simply praying for distraction
and one doing something for reaction.
The city, ablaze in turmoil from within and without,
Greymoore, Swordbract and Von Herstel in a fierce and endless bout.
A pact for survival sworn...
... in the city of Ashbourne.
Movement 2 - The Bellum of Blood
Forty years would go by,
Not an attempt to try,
to get off this planet and defy,
The fate they've given from up high.
No the three factions they fought,
for ideals and conflicted thought,
from eve to eve they slashed and shot,
yet for what? Nothing and naught!
Royal Executioners they were,
Formed by young Prince Larothron Greymoore the cur,
To fight endlessly against monster and kin were,
To kill and die by the blade an honour's refer.
The Artificers their foe,
Led by clever Von Herstel the albino,
They found a cure for death and woe,
Made bodies of clockwork and gyro.
Last there was the Elate,
Those that remembered Sir Swordbract the late,
Warmongering and machine bodies they berate,
Ultimately hiding away from their fate.
The bony soldiers of Larothron they killed,
Every last machine lover and light fulfilled,
"We will die in a blaze of glory and be thrilled,
Our honour we will rebuild!"
The tinkers of Von Herstel they rebelled,
"What will take to see your rage quelled!?"
They fought their decaying kin in a weald,
"Give up, let us make new bodies for you!" They yelled.
Oh but the priests of light,
They were filled with shame and fright,
They knew not what to do in blight,
So a new man took charge, one Sir Pyrian Night.
Movement 3 - Twin Futures
A Hundred years have passed,
The Artificers won the war at last,
The Executioners a thing of the past.
And the Elate were outcast,
They called it the War of Fools,
Where soldiers fought not for jewels,
but for foolish ideals and rules
they were taught in their schools.
The Artificers now ran the place,
Using necromancy and mechanical grace,
The Humans of Voi'Runil found new space,
In dolls of iron bodies and a fake beating heart case.
But what happened to the Elate you ask?
Oh Pyrian Night's word was bask.
He led the priesthood north, on a dark task.
Where it was that Pyrian Night made an unmask...
Oh Pyrian Night a man he was not,
A creature of darkness, a feaster of blood ought.
Oh Pyrian Night a Veryn he was caught,
With a love for a woman, the priestess Elise Eschalot.
Pyrian he admired Elise, loved her much and more,
But Elise she was sick with abhor,
"My lover a monster? This not the man I fell for!"
Pyrian he cried, "If me you shall not adore...
"... then the lot of you I curse, I encore.
Make you my bride, my whore.
And my followers, I implore.
... maybe then you will ardour."
The Elate they were cursed,
Transformed into undead and worst.
Young Elise became the first,
A vampire with a hunger and a thirst.
Movement 4 - Union
And so we skip to modern days,
The city known as Ashbourne was built on a raise,
A city for clockwork dolls and industrious blaze,
Life became good, the past a daze.
But from the north a new folk came abound,
Pale skin, with living flesh all around,
They sought shelter, away from an evil hound,
The duke of Ashbourne he did frowned.
"Living flesh, monster you are,
You have not convinced me thus far."
He was ready to stand and spar,
Remove these creatures from his bar.
"Please wait, honoured sir Uhrwerk!
Monsters we are not, a people cursed with quirk.
Let us in, let us work.
Surely we'll become a perk!"
The words of the vampire did spring,
A thought in the old doll's pistol ring.
"What can I expect you to bring?"
"Magic of course, the finest one could sling!"
Vincent Uhrwerk he did wonder,
Will this be a success or blunder?
He thought, he pondered, until his doubts were sunder.
"Let these sorry sods in with thunder!"
