Quoted By:
<span class="mu-g">”Well, if my lord demands- I'll give you my best poem. One I remember well from Blondish tradition. Here goes...”</span>
Farro raised up a strong, melodic voice. Humming along with the Cajamat, he strung the strings to add emphasis to the words and silent times of the story.
<span class="mu-i">There was once a great man,
noble, courageous, awarded wealth and land,
this one blessed by gods and tribes brought to heel,
his sons be crushed underneath fate's churning wheel.
He was known as lord, master, warrior, lover, what a lad.
But above all else he loved to be called, Dad!
He had two sons, twins born on the same day-
and both would inherit this man's gift, or as he would say.
“My Sons- nothing to you is impossible,
for my blood's gift, in you, is what is responsible.
To all my victories and fortunes, fate has allowed-
from my labor and strife- the same for you- this I vow!”
And so the two boys grew older still;
one elder, taller, never short of skill,
and the younger, meeker, but kinder indeed.
They found their gifts, straight from their breed.
The younger brother was quiet and devout,
he listened to elders, never laid-about.
The older however, humble was not;
things came easy for him- he reclined on his cot.
With muscles and women, gold and coin,
drink and status, from father's coffer he did purloin.
The elder brother was happy as could be,
but time went on, luck waned, you will see!</span>
