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When Rides The Scion Of The Storms
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Bal-sagoth
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[Dover, England: September 1594 (the recollections of a war-weary mariner)]
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Hearken boy; for I would tell thee a tale before we set sail for the Bay of
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Biscay on the morrow. I was not always called by this name, you know... To
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you, I am Caleb Blackthorne, battle-scarred master of an English galleon,
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survivor of a score of sea-fights, cheater of the notched blades of many an
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over ambitious Spanish pirate... the Scourge of Medina Sedonia! But to many
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others over the countless centuries since my first birth, I have been known by
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a host of other names... so many that even I begin to forget all but the ones
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distinguished by the most vivid deeds... for I hide a wondrous secret, boy...
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a secret some would call a blessing, but which others would deem a grim curse.
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Aye, it all began a very long time ago...
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Memories of death and life...
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For countless thousands of centuries I have walked the earth...
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I have seen endless battle,
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And untold centuries of slaughter.
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I am reborn once more!
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The same grim spirit once again given flesh...
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O' to be ravished by the seductress death...
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[The Scion of the Storms:]
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Dethroned 'ere Atlantis fell, haunted by a dark queen's curse,
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My son's soul shackled by this spell of endless death and grim rebirth.
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Fly, o' skyborne steed of Lyonesse, ride the tempest's wings,
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I am the scion of the vengeful skies, a god to warriors and kings!
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[Reflections on lifetimes of carnage:]
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I have been slain by Roman gladius,
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And by Norman spear dealt a mortal wound,
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The threads of my ensorcelled destiny
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Endlessly woven on some unknown cosmic loom.
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I have lost my life to longbow shafts
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Fighting for the English crown,
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And mayhap I'll end this mariner's life
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A good three score fathoms down!
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I marched with vast armies 'ere gleaming Atlantis sank beneath the waves...
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I reddened my blade against Caesar's legions long ago...
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I stood beside Boudicca at Colchester...
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I dealt honed steel death from the ranks of Arthur Pendragon...
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I slew and looted gloriously at Lindisfarne...
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I slaked my scramasax at Maldon...
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I crossed blades with Brian Boru at Clontarf...
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I slaughtered left and right with Harold at Hastings...
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I dispatched Norman swordsmen with Robin of Loxley...
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I wielded a Claymore at Stirling Bridge...
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I was in the thick of the fray beside Henry at Agincourt...
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I spilled blood for the White Rose at Bosworth Field...
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I captained a galleon against the great Armada of Philip II...
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I have witnessed the rise of corrupt religions, but my heathen blade was red
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countless centuries before their flaccid laws were ever carved in stone.
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They call me the Scourge of Medina Sedonia... my ship sails at dawn, and may
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our English steel ring gloriously against the cutlasses of the outlander
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pirates!
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Aye boy, it is a strange tale indeed. I know not why I am destined to live and
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die in this way, my soul moving from life to life, ever dying and being again
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reborn, with every memory of my past incarnations intact. A whim of the gods?
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An ancient sorcerous spell? Some cruel machination of fate, mayhap? Or is it
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all for some mysterious, greater purpose? Sometimes I feel the gaze of inhuman
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eyes upon me, and fragments of some past existence which I cannot wholly
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recall flash before my mind's eye. And time and time again I know precisely
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when I am to die in the fray, for always 'ere the fatal blow is struck, I see
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him... grim and noble astride his great winged steed, gleaming spear crackling
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in his grasp, beckoning me onwards to the next life... to ever more slaughter
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and carnage... Yes, adour and brooding spirit he is, and in his burning eyes I
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see a great secret which I must discover, a powerful mystery I alone must
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solve. I cannot speculate as to what strange destiny the fate! s ! have
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written for me in the stars... but the gods have decreed that this is the path
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I must follow, and I am sure that my adventures are far from over...
Blood Slakes The Sand At Circus Maximus
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