The Sage (Verse Iv, Dwarven-Folk Remembered) Poem by Warren Atherton

Dominicus-White stood afoot on the sand
In Albraith in the country of Rud.
It was here that the Dwarven-folk made their last stand
Whilst defending their homes all they could.

Over four thousand moons now had risen and set
Since the battle of Rud had been fought.
And with sword, axe and spear and much toil and sweat,
Saw the Dwarven-folk butchered. Some caught

To be slaves to the Demons in fiery hell,
If their strength held them up to the end.
Of the women and children, none living to tell,
No more scouts for a message to send.

The thoughts of Dominicus came to a halt
And his tears fell like rain to the shore.
Too late to react, were their deaths all his fault?
Of the latter he’d ne’er been so sure.

He peered all around through still watery eyes
At the mountains that soared to the stars.
Those sentinel rocks had but muffled their cries
And reluctantly yielded their scars.

Pushing sad memories to the back of his mind,
He thought on the few days ahead.
Could they really have victory with no Dwarven-kind?
And knew this was best left unsaid.

“And what of the Sage, had he reached Galafay?
And what such employ was my part?
Stood here in West Rud with just one more day
Before all of the madness will start.

What can ‘I’ do alone in this place?
No counsel was given at all.
Was this some secret plan that they all had to face,
Will I ever receive of my call? ”