The Legend of Einarr Dragonsbane

Once on a night in the midst of cold winter,

When merciless winds tore the homes of the poor,

Wracking and hacking in a fevered stupor

The cold night did bring forth both hope and darkness.

For that night long ago was a hero born,

A lad not scarce had opened his eyes,

When his mother did sleep no more to rise

And raise her tender babe with mother's care.

Cruel was fate, that made him so,

Born to a world of ice and snow,

That storm-filled night so long ago,

To save his people from a dreadful foe

When from long sleep at last did wake

The great fire-lizard, a frightful sight at best

With towering frame like stone, and curs'd with unrest

Did rise to trouble the world again

Brave Einarr, now strong and worldly-wise,

Bold of spirit and strong of will,

With scarce one-and-twenty years of skill,

Took up his great sword to face the beast

Oh! Cruel was fate that made him so!

Born to a world of ice and snow,

That storm-wracked night so long ago,

To challenge such a mighty foe!

Hard was the road to the great Wyrm's lair,

Deep in the mountains he hid his hoard,

And oft would he return, the gold to guard.

The edge of his scales tore the stones in two.

But doom was on our hero, so young and vain,

For fate had made him bold indeed, to think

He alone could march against a dragon's stink

And come away not much afoul, or worse for wear.

Oh! Cruel was fate that made him so!

Born to a land of ice and snow,

That wind-ravaged night so long ago,

To live or die no man could know.

'Tis said he faced the beast at last,

And as some small gift the wyrm did say

That Einarr, unmatched to this very day,

A boon should ask.

Our hero's pride swelled at once,

His eyes to the gold did turn,

The treasures like stars, his deed they spurned

And doom shadowed him 'till the last.

Oh! Cruel was fate, that made him so,

Born to a world of ice and snow,

That storm-filled night so long ago,

And doom should fill his days with woe!

The boon he asked, of the dragon's hoard,

That he be given everything it's weighted worth

And strode to the smoking, billowing girth

Of the dragon, to smite him most assuredly

In one fell swoop, his sword met its mark

Fast and true was Einarr's aim

And swift the dragon's hide he maimed

'Till black blood burned his sword to rust

Oh! Cruel was fate, that made him so,

Born to a world of ice and snow,

That earth-rocked night so long ago,

And doom, ever closer does it grow.

Alas! In some sick twist of fate,

The dragon not with ease did pass

For when great Einarr had turned at last

To take the treasures for himself alone,

The gold was tainted, though our hero knew not

For dragons are greedier than men,

And with their powers, most certainly can

Cast a spell to guard their hoard.

Oh! Cruel was fate, that made him so,

Born to a world of ice and snow,

That storm-filled night so long ago,

And doom should fill his days with woe!

'Till the last our hero fair

Did strive with good in all he did

And fought the dragon in its lair,

'Till gold unearthed a greed that hid

Never again was Einarr seen

By man or beast, though much is told

Of his life in riches great and old

Living as a lord in some distant land

A/N: Hey guys! I was looking through some of my old schoolwork and found this assignment from gr. 11! I think it was my first attempt at writing formal poetry... anyway it's a structured ballad, imagine that xD

P.S. I'm sorry for the format - FanFic isn't letting me space out the paragraphs! - Each verse (stanza?) Is 4 lines long, and I think the chorus is pretty easy to pick out. I imagined it as sort of a ballad that minstrels would sing on the roadside...

P.P.S. The name "Einarr" is Old Norse, and means "Warrior chief" or "Lone Warrior" (from ein- "one, alone" + -arr "warrior") It also shares the same roots as einherjar, the word for the slain warriors in Valhalla. (credit: behind the name dot com) Thought that was interesting ;3