I sing of glories won by the tip of the spear,
of great deeds done, and greater words spoken,
yet I sing not of lords, nor high-minded princes,
but virtuous men bound by love and by hope
to mighty Hallifax, and the Collective's laws.
Who each took their oaths to the people's defence
or to knowledge itself, hard-won by their minds.
Of such men I sing, and may Her love guide my words,
The Skypainter's sister, queen in the salon,
may Her skill be my own as I sing of such things.
Before the Empire claimed us in the ancient days
or taint touched the world, the city was mighty
and sent expeditions forth into the Basin
to bring new wonders to science, things undiscovered,
and new comrades to Hallifax, towns bound by oath,
bringing our virtues to all living souls.
Duty-bound Jekkex held such a command,
sent to a village far off to the south
with a few chosen men, to win the village by words,
and with honest Alidas, a student of nature,
to study the land, bringing its secrets to light.
They went to that village with hope in their hearts
and were welcomed with joy by those who they found
and a feast was held in their honour, for seven sweet days,
for the villagers hoped to be ruled by Collectivist law.
Alas that it could not be, for a second group came
clad in bright silks soaked with a sulphurous smell.
They came from the desert, their eyes wreathed in flames,
pounding on drums and shouting their wine-sodden song.
They went to the village, and speaking their lies
seduced the people with their poppy-tinged smoke
and filled their minds all with lies, shunning the truth.
They birthed a riot that raged through the town.
The mob screamed for poppies and wine and for lies.
There was none to be had, a fire-cloaked prophet proclaimed,
without oaths to the desert and soot covered city
and hate for the city that floated above.
The smoke filled their minds, and they gave their oaths
and gave them a token as proof of their words.
They seized honest Alidas, and took up his tools,
slit his throat with his scalpel, and bringing it forth
gave it to the prophet, who drank of his blood.
Such was their crime, birthed by a lie and a dream
and such was the pain they brought to our kin.
What became of the rest with our laws in their hearts?
They took to their wings and and brought word to the Board.
Jekkex knelt down before them, his eyes lowered in shame
and told of his failing and the smoking city's black deeds.
The Board bade him to rise, granting another command.
A legion of soldiers was raised for that purpose,
to bring the Hallifaxian justice down on their smoke-shrouded heads.
Ten thousand men were moved by this command, each bound by an oath
and by the love of his comrades that stirred deep in his soul.
They bore ten thousand spears, shining like diamonds,
and ten thousand shields were lifted for the common defence.
Each man stood like a statue, until the order was given,
then they all moved together according to the well-practised drill.
Their hearts were harder than iron, weighed down by duty,
and each swore in turn not to flinch from his work.
Jekkex stood at their head, bearing new arms,
a token of honours given by the masters of the forge.
He bore a shield, no larger than any other,
but engraved by a master with the great city's glory,
showing each spire, but more and greater than that,
it bore the words of our laws, and accounts of deeds
done by those who first founded the city.
Such were the men who bore arms for our laws
that their justice might be brought forth from the sky.
Such was the muster of the bloody caste, called to their task.
Such was the force that carried war to our foes.
Kind hearted Lady, Wings of Compassion,
if such themes displease You, silence my quill
and no more shall be spoken of their bloody work.
Or, if the telling of their glory seems to You to be proper,
help me to write of their deeds, done for the common good,
and teach me the word that might tell of their war.
They carried harsh war from the skies as they made their return
to put their shining spears to their bloody task.
The enemy saw their approach as they took to the field,
and formed up into a smoke-shrouded mob on the ground.
With a blast from his horn, Jekkex called his men to their lines
and shield locked with shield as they formed up on the earth,
lest they tempt their cowardly foe to abandon the fight.
Their hearts filled with duty, and love of the nation,
each man stood unflinching against their brutish foe.
First were the elders, and with them the youngest,
those who were unfit for the steady line of spears,
each with his shield, and his triad of javelins,
whose task was to weaken the enemy's savage advance.
One-handed Lothoh held this first line's command,
a man of a century of harsh schooling in war.
He who had given a limb for the common defence,
burned off by a savage in a cruel war.
From that moment on he had forsaken his shield,
leaving righteous hate of the foe as his only defence.
In such a condition he won the right to command
through valour proven in our lawful wars.
Such were the first men to march on the foe,
and hurling their weapons stained the field with blood.
One-handed Lothoh, leading by his words and his deeds,
was first to throw his javelin, thus starting the slaughter,
passing through one enemy fully, and killing another
in grim justice for their crimes, in accord with the laws.
Having struck their blows, the first line retreated,
in accord with the custom of war in those days.
The enemy saw this, and calling it cowardice
mocked those who would not kill at arm's reach.
One-handed Lothoh, stung by this mocking
and less in love with his life than with the city's repute,
turned back towards the enemies, and cried out a challenge
for the greatest of them to meet him in a duel.
This challenge was answered when a great brute came forth.
Mesancha was his name, no stranger to the bloody field,
often named in what passed for poetry amongst fools in those days.
He bore no civilized weapon, but only a club
seemingly ripped from some nearby tree
and for armour he had only rough-beaten plates.
Such was the man who met Lothoh in war.
The one-handed hero pulled his sword from his belt
as his foe roared and and made his advance,
giving a moment to the customary courtesies,
bending his back in a bow towards his foe.
Mesancha made no response but to swing his club,
trying to strike a blow against the nobler man
who fell to his knees, ducking the blow
and matching it with his own, drawing first blood.
Mesancha roared with pain, never before having been wounded
and let loose flame from his mouth, spewing it blindly,
burning himself and his honourable foe.
Lothoh made not a sound as his skin burned away
and as feathers turned to ash, bearing the pain
and striking again, deep into the fire,
killing his foe as his last hand turned to ash.
His duty honourably done, he fell back to the ground,
his wings burning away as the Fates sharpened their shears.
What remained of his lips twisted into a smile
and his mind filled with thoughts of the glorious spires,
of his comrades in arms, and those placed above him,
and the joy of conquest for a righteous cause.
Such were the thoughts of one-handed Lothoh,
an honourable exemplar of the blood-soaked caste,
as the Fates cut his thread and he returned to the wheel.
With the fall of the hero, Jekkex blew into his horn
and called the spears to their task.
The line made its march, an ordered advance
as the screaming barbarians made their rough charge.
The lines soon clashed together, each man went to his work
with Jekkex himself being the first to spill blood with his spear.
Each man stood by his brother, and none were found wanting,
and each man who fell to the foe was duly avenged.
Many a man made his name on that day, proving his valour
by bringing lawful judgement down on the foe.
There was fair Fafri, thought to have more beauty than courage,
who proved the opposite true when the foe fell on his line.
He stood next to two men, Nelioh and Zeci,
who both passed from this life and back onto the wheel.
When his comrades were slaughtered, he was pulled out of the line,
surrounded by grim enemies, hemmed in by swords.
First they shattered his shield, then he fell to the ground,
and they made ready to steal him from the world with their swords.
Yet fair Fafri was not yet ready to abandon his comrades to death,
and with his love for them in his heart, made his defence,
snapping his spear, making war with both parts
and killing no less than two dozen by means of such arms.
No smaller share of the glory was claimed by Faeso,
whose weapons were ripped from his hands by the foe.
Losing his spear was no loss to that honourable man,
who turned to the culprit and grasped the fool's throat.
With his bare hands he ripped the life from the savage,
and from that point on fought in no other manner.
What could the savages do, when faced with such heroes?
Or met with such slaughter? With no duty to bind them
they turned from the field, scattered and broken,
and fled from the wrath of the bloody caste.
Yet such cowardice was neither useful nor proper,
and the savages were chased down, put to the sword,
save for those who knelt before our people,
swearing grim oaths of submission to our laws,
who were brought back in chains to serve in the city.
Justice having been served, the village submitted
and swearing new oaths was brought back to the fold.
With his duty fulfilled, Jekkex returned to the city
that his betters might tell him where next he could serve.
Such were the deeds done in that glorious time, and
thus did the bloody caste serve our city.