You may not recognize this place.
It is a forgotten island somewhere close to Hy-Brasil. The ghosts of your past, having blocked their ears before, now block their ears again, and shut their eyes, regarding the plight of the people here.
Some among you,
Having sworn allegiance when in a different skin cloth,
To a darkness yet fought for,
To the detriment of living and dead,
Hold closed the door.
So be it, but know, others among you remember food sent from afar in times of need.
Food for the body and food for the soul.
More than butter, mead, and whiskey,
When ye thirsted for ethic, moral, and meaning,
We restored you.
Now again it is we who need the help of our Breth and Sistren.
We have come to your court,
Have been heard in the house of your making,
Have found favor and equivalence with the best among ye,
And yet…
This is the forgotten island.
Testing ground for ills still hidden,
Ailing now, corruption ridden,
A culture brutally attacked, starved, murdered
By one senseless in destruction.
And yet within our land lays the jewel,
Without our heart ye’ll have not fuel,
Without our lands no living example
Of how to do what must be done,
If out this darkness we’re yet to come.
Ye who’ve closed your ears and hearts before,
To starving peasant, saint and scholar,
We implore ye Open up your doors,
That all might live and breath.
Enough, damned sufferance, give ye reprieve.