Falwyn @ Latok
I wonder my friend, who rules your village? I must admit, it seems to be you! Hold a council and find a Lord Mayor, one that respects the Old Ways and I will stop sleeping in the shade of the Maze. I will find a nice cottage, with book shelves and a warm for in Tilverton, where good roots can be planted. I'll bring your people the Old Words and ensure they respect the fact, and know how to benefit from it's bounties.
But you should rule, or a fitting Lord Mayor. My lone demand is that those without homes who find themselves in my company be granted stay. The Abscaded Cannivasery knows not how to stay rooted to one place for long, but it must be welcomed as family guests when sought.
P.S. I was reading some books by Farzul of Westreach, an old blind monk. I thought he sounded very smart so I decided not to rhyme. Is that okay? It makes me nervous.
I shall be standing against the divine march of Gond if the Artificer decides to take the town. If I am successful, the village will pass to the crown to decide its new future. If I fail, the village will become an invading force of machine and city-industry into the peaceful woods. I promise you, if the divine march does not occur or if I am able to defend against it, I will work to make Tilverton a crossroads of nature and man. A place where travelers can rest and resupply, a place where the druids and wild walkers can teach the old way to the new folks and where the settlers can farm and hunt while respecting the wood. A place where misfits without a home can find comfort so long as they do not bring evil or harm to the people. I will not demand you stand with us against the march of Gond, but if you do, it will help ensure I can give you what you ask.
May the peace of the woods be protected,
P.S. I do enjoy your poetry as well as your prose and I look forward to hearing more of this movement you speak of. Perhaps they can call Tilverton their home between wanderings as I hope to make it a beacon of freedom for people like yourself.
These words are as fruitful;
As lady Winter was beautiful;
But only blood can seal;
A pact firm as steal;
Men of metal are sad affairs;
Full of doubt and grand despair;
Yet to break their cages and set them free;
Would be an act of charity;
I'll stand beside you;
In that town so new;
But forget there not;
What's ahead of you;
- Falwyn, Defender
Ah! Such squabble, and bickering woe;
Clammer for claims and roots deserved so;
Yet here do you stand: uncorrupt man;
Without rights but still great concern for the land;
Young Wolf may hunt, and prowl with skill;
Old stag with horns defends itself still;
As for the hare, it speeds without care;
But Lion remains King! Unseated ne'er!
And who plays the cat in this affair of the town?
The land. The Pact. The Old Words upon the ground.
Forget not that the trees watch ageless and brooding;
To Mother Soil, and Oakfather they'll be grumbling;
- Falwyn, Stirrer of Your Soul