The Ballad of Young Bródwyn the Bold

Let me tell the tale of a most gallant knight,
In possession of unearthly talent and unearthly might,
To wander yon marsh-land in search of a fight,
Young Bródwyn the Bold,
Traveled thus and thus story is told, 
That he who was called mighty of men, 
Sought to face danger in darkling foul fen,
 
    History thus is said among men,
That Bródwyn cared not to win a fair hand, 
But to seek honor and make himself known through the land,
To battle he went to serve his good king,
Of his chivalrous deeds many would sing, 
As youth waned restless so did his sword,
Many great fights did he fight for his lord,
'Til day when hard-fought battles were won,
And war reigned no longer under bright sun, 
Then did the young knight whose title was Bold,
Grow in fear that he soon would be old,
 
  For years did he seek to live yet again, 
Bliss of times past that no longer remain,
To hold once more majestic his sword,
To lay waste yet again a barbaric horde,
Far he did travel o'er land and o'er sea,
But no quench did he find though valiant his plea,
'Til rumor of cursed marsh-land did reach his ear,
A great terror there lurked as many did fear,
A shadow in darkness unknown to men, 
Did dwell with malice deep in foul fen,
 
    Then did Bródwyn depart with grand pomp,
For then did he journey to the Black Swamp,
To seek adventure and thrill of a fight,
To seek his own glory and end his own plight,
Into the fen he marched without fear,
In search of the foe to end its cold drear, 
To ancient keep and crumbling tower, 
Was Bródwyn drawn to this dark power, 
In midst of the swamp did he find the desolate lair,
Forward strode he unheeding of care,
This tower a stronghold of unholy fear,
 
     There did the young knight enter sinister gate,
No courage was lost, no fear of his fate,
There Bródwyn stood in his battle array,
Bright helm and strong sword he brought to the fray, 
Across the ruined causeway broken of old,
Stood the graying tower keep barren and cold,
Then from its great door did issue forth,
The foe-beast, the terror, who had long come from the north,
Wreathed in shadow and cloaked with dismal hate,
The creature was proud and unwavering of gait,
Fierce as a dragon, yet not unlike man,
The demon stalked forward black blade in hand,
To finish the gallant intruder and defend his fell land,
The ashen giant surrounded by smoke, 
Set steel upon steel with every great stroke, 
But young Bródwyn stood firm holding his own, 
Though the enemy was a strong wind he refused to be blown,
His shield was battered and splintered through,
His broad sword was breaking but his resolve remained true,
He would conquer or fall but never would shirk, 
Onward he fought with a triumphant smirk,
With the heart of a lion he struck down the foe,
Laying hammer to anvil blow after blow,
A great cry did the beast give with certain despair ,
Yet no better was Sir Bródwyn's fare,
Though victory won against mighty beast,
The bold knight would not have the victory feast, 
For slain was his enemy and wounded was he, 
His soul would soon sail far o'er the sea,
 
  From this fight did Bródwyn become a man of renown,
And from this fight won his burial crown,
A legend among men the tale is still told,
Of Sir Bródwyn the Young, of Sir Bródwyn the Bold.
 

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