The Lay of the Nightblade

I love reading legends, myths, and folktales of all kinds. So, it shouldn't be surprising that my favorite part of creating a fantasy world is coming up with the history and legends of that world. One of the best-developed of these legends comes from the world of Berstru. It's called "The Lay of the Nightblade", and tells the story of one of Berstru's best-known heroes. It was originally written for a scene in my NaNoWriMo 2011 novel to be recited by a bardess, who'd later become a much more important character than she was meant to be. I recently dug the poem back up so I could write a related piece in my current WiP, and I thought that I'd share the original with all of you.
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"The Lay of the Nightblade"

The moon was white,

The stars were bright,

The night was cold and dim.

Alone and fearless,

A warrior peerless,

The Nightblade it was him!

Tall and dark,

His armor, mark.

So strong of heart and limb.

His shining blade

Of star-metal made

Is known as much as him.

Long he sought

And battles fought

To find his stolen love.

His heart’s desire,

Though he could not find her,

Aranna, gift from above.

But in mountains far,

Beneath the stars,

The sorcerer is seen.

Cruel and cold,

Ages old,

The crafty Curulín.

‘Twas he who stole

With heart so cold

Aranna, true and fair.

And locked her away

From light of day

In dark fortress, oh, beware!

The Nightblade knows

The fate of those

Whom Curulín has grasped.

Wraiths and shades,

Themselves unmade,

Even Aranna fair can’t last.

To save his love

From the fate of

What all prisoners be,

The Nightblade goes,

For he knows

That in peril now is she.

Crafty Curulín

This has foreseen.

But he is undaunted still.

Monsters he sends

To make an end

And the Nightblade kill.

But none can stand

In all the land

Against the Nightblade’s sword.

Against him they fall,

One and all,

Without a single word.

And so, one day,

So the legends say,

To Curulín’s fortress he comes.

He stands before

The sorcerer’s door

And says, at the top of his lungs,

‘Foul sorcerer dark,

To my words hark!

This is the day you die!

By my blade,

You’ll be unmade,

This, today, say I!’

Curulín leered

And at him sneered.

‘Fool, you are, to dare.

Of defeating me

So you see,

You haven’t even a prayer.

You come to save

Aranna brave,

But you will fail, say I!

For you, I’ll slay

This very day,

Before the lady’s eyes.’

Aranna was brought,

And the two fought

In the courtyard then and there.

Dark and light,

In this battle, fight,

Oh Nightblade brave, beware!

The Nightblade brave

His very best gave

But against the sorcerer it was not enough!

Curulín’s art

The magic dark,

Was much more than a bluff.

Each brave attack

At front or at back

Was blocked by Curulín’s spell.

Hope faded away

As night turns to day,

And it seemed the hero’d be felled.

Then suddenly

Too quick to see

The Nightblade fell to the ground.

Curulín raised

His dark, jagged blade

And laughed a cruel and harsh sound.

Then from nearby

Both heard a cry

Of anguish at the sight.

Aranna had come free

Only to see

Her love facing death that night.

Towards sorcerer dark

She dashed, now hark!

She would not stand by on this day.

Aranna’s attack

Was quick enough that

The sorcerer could not move away.

Before her he fell

But he muttered a spell

So the moment he died, so would she.

But she did not hear

And so without fear,

She looked to destroy Curulín.

The Nightblade rose

And it seemed to those

Who watched the battle that day,

That he’d become

A deadlier one

Than any of them could then say.

Then through the heart

Of the sorcerer dark

The Nightblade drove his sword.

But alas, alas,

What came to pass

Was from the sorcerer’s word.

Though Aranna was safe

From life as a wraith,

She fell and took her last breath.

He saw it too late

To stop her fate,

And from him she was taken by death.

The Nightblade wept,

Then from Berstru he left.

Never to return again.

He laid down his sword

And with these parting words

His tale must come to an end.

‘If there comes a day

When hope is taken away

Another will rise in my stead.

Undefeated they’ll be,

Like you said of me,

And by them many will be led.

So watch for my heir

When evil does dare

To rear its ugly head.

The hero will come

And rise like the sun

And the Nightblade will shine once again.

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On a side note, the nature of this poem has changed since I first wrote it. Originally, it was meant to be a complete work, but I've since decided that the actual lay is considerably longer- too long to be recited in a single evening. This is simply the most famous portion. I'm not sure whether or not I'll write the rest, though I'd like to sometime.

What do you think of "The Lay of the Nightblade"? Have you created any legends or such for your own stories? Please tell me in the comments!

Thanks for reading!

-Sarah (Leilani Sunblade)