Elvish Tor

Since my last epic managed to please a few of you, and since saying nice things about a poem is guaranteed to encourage such behavior... This one was written as a campfire tale.

THE BALLAD OF ELVISH TOR

Jay Greenstein

 

 

 

In the night so softly creeping, how gently to your sleeping spot.

Silent death comes, strangely weeping.  The horror known as Senicot.

 

To your place on silent paw, striping bare the deadly claw.

Ready now for feasting raw, the dripping fang, the hungry maw.

The claws that rend, the breath so hot.  It's time to feed the Senicot.

 

So run and pant, don't look behind�"or see your fear, and loose your mind.

Run on and on, and weep and cry.  Now time to scream…soon time to die.

 

From worlds beyond our earth and sky.  A creature comes who cannot die.

Who drools and kills, and stinks of rot.  The horror known as Senicot.

 

Why came this evil Senicot?  How came this devil to this spot?

How came this fiend from depths of Hell?  His story grim, I now will tell.

 

° ° °

 

Great winds there were that fateful year.  No omens came to give men cheer.

When Elvish Tor devised his plan, to give the power of gods to man.

 

He searches wide for scrolls long hidden.  With skills thought lost, and words forbidden.

Through town and port and forests vast.  He seeks great secrets from the past.

 

To mountain’s top, and valley too.  His search is long from clue to clue.

But then at last he finds the cave, the journey's end, the ancient grave.

 

Beneath the earth, in crypts of stone, where light is naught, and nothing's grown:

In chest of brass he finds the scroll.  To touch his mind, and twist his soul.

 

Its parchment hard, the ink mere stain, but power there is, a force in chain.

It's words were old, when mankind young.  No one alive could speak the tongue.

Long months he works, with bare a rest, then words come clear.

A quest!

A quest!

 

° ° °

 

Three things you need before you start.  The first to find, a virgin’s heart.

A maiden aged no more than eight.  Before her heart can fill with hate.

Ripped from her breast and held so high, her eyes must note it ere she die.

 

Next, mother's tears are what you need, as bound, she watches daughter bleed.

Ten drops you take from either eye, then she must be the next to die.

 

In blood of dam[1] ye keep the thing.  From hair of both you weave a ring.

Then burn them both and then begone.  Your quest you now must carry on.

 

Seek now a pair of lovers true, who share one life between the two.

Now kill their love, and twist their mind, till hate's the only thing they find.

 

With word and trick direct their fate, till love is gone, replaced by hate.

By word and deed, and scheme and lie, their love must end, their love must die.

 

Now, one must die by lover's hand.  Then tell the living of your plan.

Now drive that one to take their knife, and end the pain, and end their life.

 

Ten drops of blood you take from vein, Then quest is done, and home again.

 

° ° °

 

To most, this horror would repel, but Tor was in the grip of hell.

His course is set, no time to rest.  He starts upon the devil's quest.

 

In peddlers guise and heavy load, he marches down the endless road.

From town to town, through oak and birch, he now begins a deadly search.

 

Now find a town, walk boldly in.  (With lying smile, and evil grin)

While folks say "Welcome," with a smile.  "Come rest your boots, and stay a while."

 

If they could know the chance they take, they'd sooner bed a deadly snake.

For when he's gone, there's grief and tear.  There's missing folk, mistrust and fear.

 

° ° °

 

How many maidens felt the knife?  How many maidens lost their life?

Till Elvish Tor learned needed skill.  Till knife and hand learned how to kill.

Till dying eyes saw heart held high.  And dying lips moan "Dear God, why?"

How many mothers weep and cry? And crying, wait their turn to die.

 

Ten years he wandered, length and breadth.  Ten years of pain and fear and death.

Ten years a plague upon the land.  Ten years of death held in his hand.

 

The lives he's ruined would fill a tome[2].  But now he turns his steps to home.

To finish out a quest most odd.  To dare to dream…become a god.

 

° ° °

 

In deepest dark he waits the time.  He speaks the words, he chants the rhyme.

The blood and tears, they mark the sign, on breast and brow, of demon's vine.

While ring of hair upon his head, like crown of hell, salutes the dead.

 

The words now said, the chant complete.  The time has come, her heart to eat.

And as he does, this Elvish Tor, he feels the force into him pour!

 

He grows in size, has strength and power.  Now is his time!  Now is his hour!

He is a god... but god of what?  The god of death, the Senicot.

 

All gone the dreams of Elvish Tor.  All lost like dust upon the floor.

A thing he is, that cannot die,  that roars its rage at midnight sky.

 

° ° °

 

So in the night so softly creeping.  How gently to your sleeping spot.

Tor's silent death comes sadly weeping.  The horror known as Senicot.

 

To your place on silent paw.  Striping bare the deadly claw.

Ready now for feasting raw.  The dripping fang, the hungry maw.

The claws that rend, the breath so hot.  It's time to feed the Senicot.

 

So run and pant, and look behind, and see your fear, and loose your mind.

Run on and on, and weep and cry.  Now time to scream...soon time to die.

 

So stay together, you and I.  And pray to never hear that cry.

And know him coming to your spot.  The horror known as Senicot.

 

° ° ° ° °

 

Author’s note

 

The Ballad of Elvish Tor was written to provide a bit of campfire entertainment for a group of Boy Scouts (although it did seem to get a bit out of hand for the age group).  In case you haven’t caught the joke, you might be interested to know that the name Senicot was deliberately taken from the laxative of the same name.  I’d decided to write a story designed to “Scare the crap” out of the boys, and the name popped into my head.  The first verse wrote itself, and all else followed from that.

---

[1]  Dam - A female parent.  Usually used with reference to an an animal

[2] Tome - A large heavy book

Reviews

[Shy Joe]

I have to admit, I don't generally enjoy rhyming in poems because they seem forced and generic. You on the other hand do it quite well. It's well thought out and not rushed. This is the second poem I have read of your and it is as well done as the last.

You switch up your rhythm every once in awhile and this does wonders for a longer poem. Keeps the reader interactive and gets them thinking. You don't have them flowing the same direction and getting bored.

All in all, I enjoy your poems a great deal. Thanks for sharing.

[flameinthesnow]

A cross between "The Shooting of Dan McGrew" and "The Lady of Shallot." Unexpectedly amusing.

[Somu]

nicely written. keep up the good work.......and if you got some time then check out some of mine.