The Heralds of Sylmoraine II
Session 2 – Ironsworn Play Report.
Important note:
The intended verse meter for reading is the
Trochaic Tetrameter (four feet per line, each with a stressed-unstressed pattern):
Aeliryn Dúndor, sworn to the King,
His life to the crown, the duty it brings.
and NOT the Iambic Tetrameter: unstressed-stressed, you will hear the difference.
Once it sounds too happy it’s Iambic, just change back to Trochaic.
If you have not read part 1, you can find it here:
Part II:
The Guards of Vidarna
Onward march, the road is bare,
Silent winds and hollow air.
Through the dust and through the land,
Vidarna’s guards like statues stand.
Their leader Ilsit waits with eyes keen,
Cloaked in shadow, fierce, unseen.
Ever grasping for the crown,
Yet never casting Utamara down.
Blades surround, yet none attack,
shadows watch, yet none hold back.
They know not what brought us here,
yet their eyes are edged with fear.
Ilsit far, yet they remain,
silent, waiting in disdain.
"Tell us, elves, what do you seek?
Sylmoraine lies in your speech."
"Who are you, oh priest of old?
Arakhi’s touch runs dark and cold."
Whispers stir, suspicion grows,
doubt like rust in armor flows.
We are weak, we cannot fight,
must obey, yet speak with might.
"We bring word to Ilsit’s hand,
Utamara’s last command."
Risky words that taste of death,
one wrong move may steal our breath.
Eledrin alone must speak,
soldiers stand yet seem too meek.
Doubt still lingers in their eyes,
yet they nod and heed our lies.
"Come," they say, "he waits ahead,"
marching where the doomed have tread.
The Betrayal
Ilsit greets us, lips are smiling,
yet his gaze is sharp, beguiling.
News is given, smooth yet hollow,
still, his doubt begins to follow.
"Priest, now tell me, why is this?
Strange it feels, yet full of bliss."
"Utamara’s will was clear,
loved you though he spoke in fear."
Will he take it? Will he trust?
No—his smirk is edged with dust.
Fingers snap, and silence breaks,
Vidarna’s guards move swift as snakes.
Bound in chains, their laughter loud,
dragged beneath the earth, unbowed.
Stripped of all, decree is lost,
truth now buried—at what cost?
Hours pass in stone-cold dark,
steps approach, a whisper stark.
"Eledrin, come forth alone,"
"You shall stand, the rest atone."
"Lied to me, yet still you stay,
taking life would make my day."
"But instead, you'll help me weave,
change the words, make all believe."
"Still you spoke a thing that’s true,
I shall reign when this is through."
Now he waits, and fate is torn,
what is left to swear upon?
Eledrin in silence kneels,
asks his god what fate reveals.
In his heart, a voice replies,
"Your Life worth more than all their lies."
Hand now shakes, yet ink must run,
false decree is nearly done.
All is true, save one last line—
Ilsit rules, the throne is mine.
Betrayal burns, yet whispers rise,
"False kings fall, and false kings die."
Eledrin breathes, his trust is sworn,
darkness smiles—the oath is born.
Ilsit takes the scroll in hand,
"Soon the throne shall heed my stand."
"Come now, priest, you all shall see,
to the oracle with me."
Arrival at the Oracle of Vaelmyrith
Bound in chains, yet still we tread,
dragging steps where fate has led.
Vaelmyrith, where silence sings,
where the air and knowledge wings.
Floating stones like thoughts suspended,
truths and time are never ended.
Shifting light in lucid streams,
wisdom breathes through endless dreams.
No high walls and no strong tower,
sight alone has been their power.
Ages safe in knowing’s keep,
now a shadow stirs the deep.
Ilsit walks where none should go,
hollow footsteps, whispers low.
Hands extend the twisted scroll,
Eledrin must play his role.
Three now wait with silver eyes,
seer’s gaze that rends through lies.
Jemshida’s own, the watchful three,
names that stretch through memory.
Not as foes but pillars twain,
Jemshida and Arakhi reign.
Light and shadow, bound, entwined,
weaving fate through space and time.
"We have waited, Ilsit, king,
fated heir through broken string."
Ereshki reads, her voice like stone,
uttering words that weigh like bone.
We but watch and dare not speak,
destiny now frail and weak.
Silent, waiting, bound by trust,
faith in gods, and dust to dust.
Thalionir, Rundoril, Aeliryn,
know not yet the fate within.
Eledrin guards the truth he bears,
lest one word should turn to snares.
Arakhi whispers, Jemshida sees,
truth shall shatter, none shall flee.
Vaelmyrith will not remain,
when false kings shall rise—and wane.
The Inauguration through the Holy Flame
Eledrin stands, his heart like stone,
knowing well what must be shown.
Eyes of fate now share his sight,
threads entwined in silent might.
"Ilsit, king, now take the scroll,
speak the words and bind your soul.
Hold the flame in steady hand,
swear to gods who judge this land."
Still he stands with guarded breath,
Vidarna’s host, unshaken death.
Ilsit lifts the script with pride,
dreams of thrones his heart inside.
Eledrin kneels, the seers pray,
whispers coil in unseen fray.
Words are read—the gods do hear,
flame awakens, creeping near.
Tongues of fire stretch and writhe,
wrap his soul and strip it live.
Screams now tear the sacred air,
false kings die and none shall spare.
As was told, so comes to pass,
flame consumes, no flesh will last.
Ilsit’s name is now undone,
burning bright, the oath is spun.
Thus the fire lives through time,
fed by greed and royal crime.
Every age, the throne’s deceived,
every age, the flame is pleased.
Vidarna’s guard in horror stays,
minds are lost in searing haze.
Though untouched, they bear the scar,
fear of gods shall stretch afar.
Ilsit gone, his memory dust,
burned away by oath and trust.
Yet the truth is ashes too,
scroll consumed in fire’s blue.
Who shall rise and take the crown?
Who shall dare and not fall down?
Vaelmyrith stands, the gods still see,
thrones are dust, but flames stay free.
Heading Homewards to Sylmoraine
Eyes command, the path is set,
bring the words that kings beget.
Go once more, through dust and stone,
seek the hand upon the throne.
"He still breathes," the seers cry,
"He still lives and cannot die."
Yet the wind is sharp and cold,
whispers weave through tales of old.
Twenty march, yet fear walks near,
shadows trail with silent leer.
Vidarna’s men, though strong of frame,
hold in mind a searing shame.
When they reach the city’s gate,
halt they do, and speak of fate:
"Crown a king and let us fall,
but no flames shall take us all."
"Rather battle, rather blade,
rather war than fire’s shade."
And so they break, their oaths undone,
leaving the four to march alone.
Hunger bites and thirst remains,
weary souls bear unseen chains.
Yet the road calls, harsh and black,
to the throne—no turning back.
Valaria waits with haunted gaze,
speaks of death in veiled malaise.
"Utamara wanes with time,
like the bells that cease to chime."
Food is scarce, the way is steep,
all they have is will to keep.
Through the wilds, through ice and pain,
flesh may fail, but oaths remain.
Through the dark, through hunger’s knife,
still they crawl, though lost of life.
Steel in hand, though weak of breath,
starving men march on through death.
Cleric Eledrin’s Fall from Faith
Utamara lies, his breath runs thin,
Eledrin speaks, yet there’s no din.
"Our king, our guide, where is your might?
The throne now falters in the night."
Silent he lies, his soul does fade,
lost to time, in shadows laid.
Eledrin’s voice calls once again,
but no reply—only the pain.
"Where is Arakhi, where is her grace?
Why has she turned her holy face?"
Desolation claws at his heart,
fate and faith seem torn apart.
Eledrin questions, doubts grow wide,
his faith begins to fray inside.
Yet in the stillness, Arakhi speaks,
calming him, though his soul still seeks.
"Your task is not yet done," she cries,
"The earth must bear your holy ties."
He swears anew, in silence deep,
vows of truth he’ll ever keep.
The soldiers watch with eyes of dread,
as Eledrin kneels, then lifts his head.
From the earth, he rises tall,
a warrior now, to heed the call.
His heart once soft, now forged in flame,
a servant of Arakhi’s name.
His soul is steel, his will is pure,
his mission clear, his heart secure.
The realm once lost now finds its guide,
a kingless land shall not divide.
Though shadows linger, skies now change,
the heart of war, the winds arrange.
tbc.
Disclaimer:
I used my Ironsworn campaign journal for the ideas and
ChatGPT and Crayon for the generation of the content itsself.
With some corrections and changes made by me.
All pictures generated by Lukas Gartmair with crayon.com Image Generator.
All verses generated by Lukas Gartmair with OpenAI ChatGPT.
Copyright © 2025 Lukas Gartmair. All rights reserved.