So speaks Balathusrus, of the Elven race.
‘Gather around, friend, on this new year’s day,
Peace has come and is here to stay.
The Dark Lord is slain, life is pure,
Woundls will heal, time will cure.
Let the rivers of splendour flow
And cities of Elf and Man grow.
Mayhaps, one day, the Gods will dance
Once more on the plains of Beleriand.
The Denethor of Death is dead and gone,
The Necromancer is spent and worn,
Trolls of lore are holed in keeps,
Yet, Man in his misery weeps.
Gather around friend, for one last charge,
The Might of Man is not all lost,
Urak will one day be free
From the foul winds that ravage land and sea.
Till then, steel your heart and flesh
To last the night and start afresh.
Unite, men and elves, show your worth,
Let us bask in glory henceforth.
Gundabad shall fall, Orcs shall flee,
The shackles of Death will soon not be.
‘Tis not a dream, friend, we seek the stone,
lesser men have done much more.
After all, it’s not capturing a dragon is it?
Sound the siren.
Onward to Gundabad.’