From: John P Hughes (john.hughes@anu.edu.au)
Date: Fri 22 Apr 1994 - 19:33:47 EEST
Fighting men of Sartar's stock
would you have some Lunar Cock
Perched upon Orlanthi Rock?
Fly up and teach him manners!
YELMALIO/ELMAL - CHAOS BOOTLICKING LUNAR PROPAGANDA Someone said...
Over to Tarful Thunderstone, an old Tovtaros acquaintance from Ironspike...
'I've heard that story, and I paid the teller the going rate, I can tell you. Split open his skull to let the wind in I did. Well the bit about the unclean shepherd is true, but that's the only part. I know those Vantaros have an unnatural interest in sheep, and that the mutton carcases in the Alda Chur market sometimes have lovebites. But it gets cold and lonely in the hills, and they're good Orlanthi, for all that. 'Cept for all those Lunar traitors, that lot of politicing so and sos in Alda Chur, and them with too many relatives in Tarsh, and that murderous so-called Prince Harvar Ironfist and the new Temple to Yanafal kiss-my-arse Tarnils. Underneath it all, most of them are still Orlanthi, 'cept its illegal, so we keep it quiet. In our hearts, but we remember everytime we breathe. The Righteous Wind - that bit's true too - but it was about Lunars, nothing to do with the sun. Least not that I heard...
'Uleria's beard, have you ever BEEN to Far Point!? Lucky to have any sun at all, up here, what with Skyfall Lake and all the rain and such. Never see the sun at all 'less there's a storm in the sky as well. Its a cold sun alright, but its an Orlanthi one. Inora's one cold bitch -I guess that bit's right as well. But I never knew she was married. As for the bit about Orlanthi forcing themselves on their daughters... well I never. I knew a thane in Alone who had a thing going with his son-in-law once, but he was Tarshite, and besides, that's nothing to do with it...'
UNUSUAL BRITONIC FORMS OF MASSED CHORAL ENTERTAINMENT
Yes MOB, I believe it is historical - I certainly didn't make it up!
Surprisingly though, it doesn't crop up in too many sources
(wonder why?). I came across it in a novel by the historian (and
Merlin freak) Nikolai Tolstoy. The novel - The Coming Of the King
- is so full of historical and mythological tidbits and Welsh and
Latin whatevers that it's almost unreadable. Great source if you
can stand all the mabbing and draco mortuus though. The myth
and ethnography checked out well against my (dilettantish)
knowledge, so I'm tempted to take the description at face value
(Tolstoy has also published non-fiction mytho-historical works on
the Britons). The err, entertainment is described on pp 99-100 of
the Corgi paperback edition for those desperate enough to seek it
out.
FILK FILK FILK FILK... Rollin (rollin@eql12.caltech.edu) asked for the story behind the song...
Cold Wind Over Sartar
When Voria blooms in the darkness
Her blossoms swing light from each tree
When Dragon awakes and spreads fire
Its then that our land will be free.
I wander her hills and her valleys
And still through my sorrow I see
A land that has never known freedom
And only her rivers run free.
I drink to her sons and her daughters
Those ones who would rather have died
Than to live in the cold chains of bondage
To bring back the rites we're denied.
Where are you know that we need you,
What thunders where storm used to be?
All gone, like the rains of last season
And only our rivers run free.
How sweet is life but we're crying
How mellow the mead but we're dry
How fragrant the grape but its dying
How gentle the wind but its ice.
What good is a youth when its aging
What joy is an eye that can't see
When there's sorrow in stormwind and shower
And still only our rivers run free.
Silverquill, Grey Sage of the Tower by the Pond at Aldachur, reports that this ballad gained sudden popularity among Orlanthi loyalists after it was sung before the Pavis Governor at a Praxian Harvest Ritual. Her Ally, a particularly vexatious spirit named Aristophanes, claims that the song originated as an Esrolian dirge from the Lesser Darkness. It is a slow, maudlin ballad in a minor key, usually sung late at night when the fire is low and the mead tankards empty. It exhibits that typically Sartarite sentimentality so difficult for outsiders to comprehend.
Silverquill marks it as especially significant because of it is a house ballad, a traditional form normally employed only by housemothers and teachers of the young - in effect a song for women who had not chosen the warrior's path. It stands in stark contrast to the long, winding boastful sagas more typical of the fighting castes. For Orlanthi warriors to accept such a song as their own marked a seachange in their view of the struggle and the role of the Sartarite resistance. In effect, the warriors simultaneously debased themselves and uplifted the common people by their acceptance of the ballad. They identified their resistance with the land itself, and saw Sartar as belonging to all the people rather than just the warriors and thanes. The warriors of Orlanth present themselves as mothers of the old/new kingdom yet unborn. It represents a universalisation of the struggle, a call for all to share in Sartar's debasement and freedom.
The popularity of the song had profound effects on the hero plane, where it laid ritual foundations for many of the female and child heroquesters who lived and died for Sartar during the Hero Wars. Helena Truespear, who successfully heroquested to retrieve a part of Sheng Seleris from the keeping of Gorgorma, reported her first liberation after hearing the song sung from the depths of an Ironspike jail compound.
AKA... Only Our Rivers
Composed by Michael MacConnell (that's Mickie to you, lad).
Recorded by Planxty and featured on the album 'Ar^is!'
(that's supposed to be a fodder (^) over the 'i', folks).
()1984, Polydor 815 229-1). Also covered by Christy Moore and
many other earnest young minstrels with acoustic guitars.
When apples still grow in November
When blossoms still grow from each tree
When leaves are still green in December
Its then that our land will be free.
I wander her hills and her valleys
And still through my sorrow I see
A land that has never known freedom
And only her rivers run free.
I drink to the death of her manhood
Those men who would rather have died
Than to live in the cold chains of bondage
To bring back the rites we're denied.
Where are you know that we need you,
What burns where the flame used to be?
Have you gone like the snows of last winter
And will only our rivers run free.
How sweet is life but we're crying
How mellow the wine but we're dry
How fragrant the rose but its dying
How gentle the wind but its ice.
What good is a youth when its aging
What joy is an eye that can't see
When there's sorrow in sunshine and flowers
And still only our rivers run free.
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