Sailing on the oceans around the lost lands of the north,
Stood the once menacing ginger bearded pirate, ændre.

He had been searching for twenty years of his life,
All in a bid to find the dark deep dwelling serpent,
That in his youth,
Had taken his good right leg.

It was not one sided,
For ændre had taken something of the beasts,
As he stood upon the bow of the ship,
He clutched in his left hand,
The largest unicorn horn that had ever been seen.

He had tried to sell the trophy that he took,
From the face of the beast,
But none would have it.

Every sage and wise one from the coast to the heart,
Refused to take it,
Each claiming in their own way,
That it was cursed.

For this reason, ændre had been searching for the creature,
To end the curse once and for all.

On a stormy, icy cold night,
His crew spotted off the far side,
A large serpent swimming,
Waving in and out of the surface water.

The old pirate spied the creature,
And he knew in his soul that he had found,
The one that had taken his foot,
The one he had taken the horn from.

Charging towards,
The boat picked up speed.

Lifting the horn up like a large harpoon,
The pirate ændre prepared to launch,
And hurl the spiral horn out,
At the creature.

With one swing,
It flew like a javelin,
And made it’s way to the beast.

It did not strike it,
Instead it fell short,
Landing in front of the serpent.

The creature stopped,
Staring at the horn,
And then turned back to look,
From which direction it had come.

There, ændre waved his hand,
For it had been his intention not to kill,
But to return the horn,
And make peace with his demon.

The creature took the horn underwater,
Diving deep,
And when it resurfaced,
The horn was once again attached.

Wading in the water,
The serpent made it’s way towards the boat,
Every man panicked,
All except ændre.

The beast spat out a large clump of water and silt,
Out from its belly.

The muck landed on the boat,
And there amongst the dead fish,
Amongst the mud and sea salt,
Rested the old pirate's lost foot.

He reached down towards it,
And picked the foot up.

Diving,
He fell into the ocean,
And swam underneath.

Not one of his men could see him.

Seconds passed,
And he resurfaced,
With all his men reaching out to grab him.

Once on board,
All were stunned to see,
His foot was reattached.

The pirate ændre told all on board that day,
That the curse of war can only be broken,
Peace can only be achieved,
When all our equal once more.

There lived a Jotun by the name of Malerblatt,
She was in charge of one task as often Jotuns were,
Charged with the duty to paint the leaves,
Upon the trees of the world.

She graced the scene,
Twirling and spinning,
Splodging blobs of green paint as she danced.

All was good.

After several years of decorating,
Some of the other Jotuns noticed,
Malerblatt had stopped dancing.

Instead she just stood,
Solemnly splattering the leaves,
No longer joyful and happy,
Just… moping.

A little river fish spied her from the stream,
He swam over and poked his slippery head out.

“Malerblatt, dear giant,
Why are you so sad?
Normally you bolt around,
All cheery and glad!”

The Jotun spoke,
“I’m tired of green,
On every tree,
I want to paint something,
No one’s ever seen.”

The fish swam away for a moment,
Then returned with some weeds,
Pulled from the mouth of the river,
A clump of amber tinted algae.

He spat it out onto the ground by her feet.

“Grind this down in your hand,
You will make a colour just like sand.”

Malerblatt squashed,
And squished and smushed,
And made a new paint,
With a tinge of yellow.

The fish called out to a friendly bird,
Who picked several juicy berries from up high.

It dropped them down to the giant below.

“Crush these lovely berries,
You will make a colour just like cherries.”

Malerblatt pummelled,
And pushed into a pulp,
And made a new mix,
With a tinge of red.

The bird sang aloud to a nearby deer,
Who gathered some shells from the beach.

It passed them to the giant stood.

“Break these up and you will sire,
A brand new colour just like a Sapphire.”

Malerblatt crushed,
And cracked and crumbled,
And made a new dye,
With a tinge of blue.

She loved her new colours,
And could mix various new ones,
By combining those she already had.

Soon she had a palette of all the colours,
And jumping forward,
She bounded around the land,
Until she found,
A lonely tree,
Untouched by her hand.

She spread the paints all over,
Decorating free,
Until all could be seen,
Was a multi-coloured tree.

She stood back,
With the fish and the bird and the deer.

Each animal complimented her work,
And then, suddenly,
Erupting from the tree,
Shot a magnificent rainbow,
And at the top,
Rested Iris, the great goddess.

She loved Malerblatt’s tree so much,
That she gave her a new job,
And put her in charge of painting rainbows as well.

Malerblatt was so happy that she danced around,
Her large giant like steps,
Caused the skies to open and rain to fall,
Caused the sun to smile and beam brightly,
So it became,
That every time it rained whilst the sun shone,
A new rainbow would appear in the world.

After the titan fell,
And was punished eternally,
The sky god devised a plan,
Whereby he hid the fire once stole,
And placed it high upon a plinth,
Out of the reach of the mortals.

Legend said that he could not take it back,
But human memory flitters and fades,
And the sky god knew they would forget.

He kept the knowledge hidden,
And placed in front - one of his nephews,
Son of his brother the water god,
To guard for all time.

The guard was the perfect choice,
A cyclops,
With one large beaming eye,
Spying out and keeping watch,
Clutching a spear in his hand to defend.

The sky god knew that mortals would try,
And take the fire back for their own use,
He knew this and so allowed the chance,
Through solving a riddle,
That would place the cyclops to sleep.

Many mortals tried to beat the guard,
But ended their lives upon the tip of his spear.

That was until one such attempt,
Where a young woman,
Known as Galenia,
Approached the sentinel,
In a bid to obtain the blazing fire.

They cyclops held out his spear,
And spoke through an echo in her mind…

“Answer true and you will learn,
Of the power that does burn.”

Galenia awaited,
Anticipating.

“Five priestesses,
Gathered in a room,
Five apples in a basket,
Made all things loom,
Each lady took one,
But one still remains,
Lying in the basket,
How? Please explain…”

Galenia thought for quite some time,
And when she finally held the answer,
She spoke out loud.

“Each lady took an apple, but this is no spell,
The last priestess took an apple,
And the basket as well.”

With her answer,
The cyclops eye shut,
Closed,
And he did sleep.

She crept around him,
And reached to the plinth,
And the knowledge of the gods,
Did flow once more,
Into the mind of the mortal before it.

Little Ben was strolling through the gardens,
Set aside in the little town where he lived.

There were luscious trees and beautiful blossoms.

Little Ben wanted,
As sometimes childish boys do,
To knock the blossoms off of the trees.

He started by thwacking a stick about,
But he could only reach the lowest branches,
So instead he picked up some stones from the ground,
And begun to hurl them at the trees,
Trying to knock off the blossoms,
Which was a rather foolish thing to do,
For tucked away in the tree,
Was a wasp nest.

One of the stones he threw knocked the nest,
Clean off the branch,
And sent it hurtling down,
Zooming towards the floor,
Where it did crash,
And crack open.

Out came hundreds of wasps,
Angry at what had happened to their home.

They saw Little Ben and decided to play a trick upon him.

Swarming around,
They formed and morphed,
Into the shape,
Of a human-like being,
And announced themselves to Ben,
As a Djinn.

“Boy, you have set me free,
And now as a reward I will offer you,
Wishes, have two.”

Little Ben stood agog,
He could not believe his luck.

He thought to himself and then replied,
“I am poor but the nobles are rich,
I wish I was richer than the nobles.”

The swarm of wasps nodded,
And broke off and away,
They flew high and far,
Travelling to the homes of the nobles,
Where they did each take one of their golden coins,
And carried them back all the way to Little Ben’s house.

He hurried home,
Seeing from afar what was happening,
And could not believe his eyes.

The swarm reformed into the Djinn,
“Granted you, we have tipped the scales,
Hear their wails and cries evermore,
You are richer, the nobles now poor.”

“…and for your second wish?”

But Ben was not stupid,
He knew to save that wish,
For now he had piles of money,
It would be enough for him to have whatever he wanted.

The Djinn once again nodded,
And so disappeared.

Time passed,
And the nobles soon realised their money was gone.

Fuming,
They questioned every one of their staff,
Who alarmed them by saying,
Wasps had come,
And taken it away,
Over the hills,
And to a house by the gardens,
Little Ben’s house.

The nobles got on their horses,
Armed with their guards,
They rode across the hills,
And towards Ben’s house,
Where they did knock,
And pound upon the door,
Relentlessly.

Little Ben peeked out of his window,
And spotted the angry nobles,
Panicking,
He jumped out the window and snuck away,
Back to the garden.

Calling out he said,
“Oh Djinn, oh friend! Help me please!
I wish to be safe from the nobles!”

The swarm reformed and once again nodded.

They pointed Ben towards a farm,
Where they led him to a barn full of pigs.

“Remove your clothes,
And roll in the mud would be wise,
You will be in a pig disguise.”

He did as the Djinn said,
Taking off his clothes and rolling around,
Until he was filthy and covered.

“It’s no good!” He said,
“I still look like me!”

No sooner had he spoken,
Did the Djinn break up once more,
Back into a swarm of wasps,
Which circled Ben,
And began to sting him,
On his ears,
On his nose,
Until his face swelled up,
And he resembled a pig.

The swarm spoke,
“Now act like a pig and you will see,
They will not find you, you will be free.”

The swarm left,
And Ben did act,
By wrestling around,
And snorting with the other beasts.

When the nobles arrived to the farm,
In search of Little Ben,
They could not find him,
Only a drove of pigs.

This fuelled their anger again,
And in an attempt to quell their fierceness,
The farmer whose barn they were in,
Offered his lords a feast in their honour.

The idea of a full belly swayed the nobles,
And they began to calm.

Looking around,
They noticed a rather large looking pig,
That looked tasty and good to eat.

They pointed at Ben,
And the farmer grabbed him,
Dragging him away, ready to be cooked.

Little Ben stayed silent,
For he did not want to break his disguise,
And so was prepared,
And cooked,
And served to the nobles on a plate.

There is a moral to this tale.

Be wary of the calmness from one you have angered,
They may be leading you into a vengeful trap.

It is clear in many accounts through history,
That roaming these ancient lands,
Is a certain type of creature that if seen,
Could be a harbinger or protector.

The black hounds have been seen by many,
But there is one that is very rarely seen.

It is known as the Canisnoir.

This legendary beast is only seen,
In one particular area of Albion,
Somewhere along the border of two counties,
Near the River Culm.

The Canisnoir is a solitary hound,
There is only ever one,
And it stalks the observer,
Without making a sound,
Creeping ever closer.

Once caught in its gaze,
It is rumoured so,
That the observer will see one of two things,
Their birth,
Or their death.

The eyes rotate,
Like splodges of ink,
And in it one can see details,
Flickering out like spat embers,
Dancing around the vision,
Forcing a vision to form.

If the observer sees their birth,
Then it means they have been chosen,
Directed on a course,
To fulfill an essential role,
In the lands of Albion.

However, if one sees their death,
It is a sign they are headed,
On a path that will end badly,
And must with every ounce of their being,
Change their way.

When seen,
The Canisnoir will run away,
Off into the hedgerow or tree line,
Vanished and forgotten.

The Clifton trolls,
Dwell in the rustling bushes,
Between the cracks of the gorge,
Where they feast upon creatures,
That lurk in the mud banks,
Left behind from the tide rolling out.

Of all the Clifton trolls,
The most famous in legend,
Is the troll known only as Rolly.

His parents had seen and watched,
For many years,
How the humans above them cared,
Loved and cherished their children.
They showered them with gifts,
And raised them well,
And the trolls grew to believe,
That human parents were blessed.

When Rolly was a newborn,
His parents stole away into a home,
Near the Gorge,
And swapped their baby with a human child.

They took the child away,
Promising to raise it as best they could,
But ultimately hoping,
That their new baby would be raised better,
Under the love of humans.

The human parents,
Had been placed under a spell,
And could only see their lovely child,
And not the unique looking,
Oddly shaped troll baby they were cradling.

Years went by,
And despite strange whispers,
Random mumbles and stares,
The two humans raised their child,
In the best way they could.

It was only when he was four years old,
That they began to suspect,
When at a social gathering,
Two older human children had begun,
In a nasty way,
To torment their darling Rolly,
For his big bulging eyes,
Cracked lips and oddly shaped hands.

Angry,
The little troll raised his finger,
Pointing towards them,
And muttered under his breath,
Words that sounded much like gibberish,
Commonly babbled by the young,
But it was not,
It was a curse,
And instantly a bookshelf fell on top,
Pinning the two older children,
And trapping them under the weight of literary works.

Rushing him away from the gathering crowd,
His parents hurried him to a nearby witch,
Famous for her potions and mediumship.

She examined the boy,
She examined the parents,
And then,
In her grubby bathtub,
Brewed them a potion to drink.

It stank of rotten fish,
Lined with sticky sap from an Ash,
And tainted with a sprinkling of the boys hair.

Once consumed,
It revealed,
And the parents learnt the truth,
That their dear Rolly was not a little human boy,
But in fact,
A troll youngling.

The witch grabbed a blade,
And made for the boy,
Trying to gut him,
But his father stood in the way,
Knocking her to the floor.

Both parents grabbed Rolly,
And once again ran away.

They made their way up towards the highest point,
Overlooking the Gorge below.

There they hugged Rolly,
Kissed him,
And left him,
And although it broke their hearts to do so,
They left knowing,
That he would never be safe,
Unless with his own kind.

After some time passed,
His natural curiosity led him to climb,
Climb down the rock face,
And towards the mud below,
Where he found some tasty creatures to snack on.

There he was greeted by his birth parents,
And their rather tall and slender son.

The trolls were overjoyed by Rolly’s return,
And he told them of the two that raised him,
How they protected him from those who feared,
And so thankful were they,
That once again that night,
They stole away into the humans home,
And left them a present.

When the humans awoke,
They walked into their son's room,
And found,
Perched on the edge of Rolly’s bed,
A little human boy,
Four years old.

Rolly grew up amongst his own kind,
But never forgot the kindness and love,
That had been bestowed upon him.

It is said that every year,
Around the time of Yule,
He would appear at his human parent’s window,
Where he would watch them unwrap presents,
Eat their dinner,
Play with their returned human son,
And he would shed a tear,
As he remember the time he shared with them,
As a changeling boy.

The settlement of Tamari was built from the bones of sea serpents.
They had been plucked from their corpses by two brothers, giants.

It was said, that these serpents were also brothers,
Born in the sea, from the sky father and the earth mother.
The elder deep water dragon was known as Tamaris,
And his brother, the slimmer and lean serpent,
Was known as Ploumenn.

They spent most of their time,
Enjoying riding the ripping waves,
Swimming in the bay near the beach,
And diving for the tasty fish on the bed.

The two giants stood upon the land, envious.

They had been born to the land,
And could not swim.

The jealousy devoured them,
Consumed them,
Until one storm battered evening,
They conceived a devilish plan,
To enact,
And calm their anger.

They stripped the local trees bare,
And used their bark to make two rods.

They gut local wolves and hares,
And used their innards to make string.

After crafting their tools,
They cast into the waters,
And caught many white tailed fish,
Which they threw into a bucket,
And dragged,
Poured,
And left in a heap upon the sand.

They hid,
And waited.

Time passed,
But eventually,
Heads poked out of the water,
Disturbing and sending ripples,
Which continued,
As they began their swim towards shore.

Once in the shallow waters,
They pulled up,
With a mighty stroke,
Their bodies,
And coiled,
Launched themselves out of the water,
And onto the beach.

They snacked and gobbled,
Unaware of the two giants,
Creeping up behind them.

With one large thwack of a club,
With one large prod of a spear,
The two serpents were no more.

They cut them,
And pulled out their bones,
Using it to build the foundations,
Of a new settlement.

Guilt riddled,
After realising their crime,
The two giants hurled themselves,
Off the tallest of the nearby cliffs,
And once they had drowned,
Their bodies merged,
Turned,
And formed an island,
Off the shore,
And so came Lugh’s Island.

The serpents and the giants were,
No more.

It is said,
That in the highlands of the Picts,
Lost between a rock and a marsh,
There is a large tent,
Swirled with blue spirals which adorn,
Like tattoos upon the skin,
And signal the location of the famous wise man,
Farsight.

Farsight could peer,
Peek through crystal reflections,
And see into three different realms.

The past, the present and the future.

He kept to himself,
Despite many trying to find him.

On one foggy day,
In the month of November,
Just after the eve of Samhain,
Three young siblings,
A sister and two brothers,
Happened upon the legendary tent,
And wandered inside.

There they found Farsight,
Waiting for them,
Wearing his large robes,
And covering his face with a thick hood.

Peeking up,
The siblings caught a glimpse of his face,
Half human,
Charming like a prince,
Half other,
Mystical and intimidating.

He spoke,
“Three children of the Glen,
One woman, Two Men,
Wander here to see,
What will come of you three?”

The first sibling, the youngest brother,
Stepped forward.

“I wish to know what is to come,
Where am I to walk?”

Farsight removed a silk cloth,
And revealed a large purple crystal,
Sat resting upon his table.

The crystal had three large parts,
Of which Farsight removed the longest and thinnest,
And handed it to the youngest brother.

He stared into it and began to see in its reflection,
The image of future days,
And amazed,
Mesmorised by such events,
He did not notice,
As he left the tent,
The large trench into which he fell,
Breaking his legs,
And being trapped there.

He could see the events which would come,
But could do nothing to stop them,
He was hopelessly helpless.

The second sibling, the eldest brother,
Stepped forward.

“I wish to know what has passed,
Where have I been?”

Farsight removed another piece,
And handed the short and stubby shard,
To the oldest brother.

He stared into it and began to see in its reflection,
The image of past days,
And amazed,
Captivated by memories,
He did not notice,
As he left the pitch,
The drop of the clifftop which he fell,
Down to the rocks below,
Which marked his grave.

He could see all that had gone before him,
But was so caught up in,
He was to befall such an end.

The third sibling, the sister,
Remained silent.
Farsight broke off the final piece,
A large round chunk,
And handed it to the sister.

She thanked him with a nod,
Then left.

As she walked back out of the tent,
She peered through the crystal,
And saw where she was going.

She avoided the trench that had swallowed her brother.

As she walked towards her home,
She peered through the crystal,
And saw the cliff ahead of her.

She avoided the cliff that had brought an end to the other.

And when finally she was at home,
She sat curled up with the crystal,
And looked into its face,
Where upon,
Did conjure,
The faces of her brothers in her mind,
Who she looked back upon fondly.

Farsight however,
Was never seen again.

Some say he lost his powers,
After giving away the shards,
Other say,
He left once he had taught,
A lesson that needed to be learnt.

In the depths of Gleich Forest,
Between the great standing firs,
Sat a small wooden cottage,
Built by John Mann and John Kerl.

Two men,
Who had found love,
But from the fear they faced,
Had turned,
And hid,
Tucked away in Gleich,
Where they could live out their lives,
Without fear of persecution.

They lived with their two children,
John Mann’s son Raynard,
And John Kerl’s daughter,
Mala.

Both born to their wives,
Who were no longer around,
Now raised,
By two fathers,
Loving and proud.

They were a happy family,
Who spent their days,
Enjoying the forest,
Picking berries for lunch,
Catching wild rabbits for dinner,
Taking the wood they needed,
To heat their cosy home.

All was good and all was great,
Until one day,
When Raynard and Mala,
Were traipsing through the trees,
And came upon,
A black wolf,
Waiting,
To pounce and strike.

It launched out and growled,

“I am the black wolf of this forest,
And I have eaten four children,
Just like you…
And now two more,
One for bread,
One for stew.”

He chased,
And hunted them down,
As they ran all the way back,
To their fathers,
And the safety of their cottage.

The children screamed and cried out,
For the wolf had not lost interest,
And was edging ever closer,
With each huff and husky growl,
Spat out from its dribbling mouth.

John Mann,
Was first to hear the cries,
Whilst he was hunting the coney,
Holding bow and arrow.

He charged towards the wolf,
And pulled the string tight,
Launching forth a fright, tipped with arrowhead,
Which did imbed into the black wolf.

The creature shrieked and charged away,
Hiding behind the far wall of the family lodge.

John Kerl,
Heard the commotion near,
Whilst he was chopping logs in two,
Clasping the long handled axe.

He ducked around the wolf,
Sneaking up behind him,
And with one fell swoop, took off its head,
Which did imbed into the ground.

The Fathers had saved their children.

When word spread to the nearby villages,
Of the Two Fathers of Gleich,
And how they had,
Fuelled by the love for their family,
Fought bravely against the dark wolf,
And had taken its head.

The people began to talk,
No longer preaching hateful words,
But instead,
Spoke only of their good deed,
And the love they had,
And from that day forth,
The family of John Mann and John Kerl,
Never hid from fear again.

Through the shroud of the mist covered yard,
Where stone stands to mark the grave,
You will find at the foot of the bed,
The Beetleborg,
He who greets the dead.

Wrapped in heavy, thick grey blankets,
Like those dragged out to stave off the cold,
Folded around his frame but hanging loose,
With only a small gap peeking out of his hood,
And amongst the dark shadows spy,
One jagged white slit eye.

From under the weighty clothing,
Peers a pale and sickly hand,
With stained brittle nails,
Clutching stave,
Which aids him to stand.

Atop the stave rests a golden beetle,
Stuck onto a spindly bone,
And here the power lies for the greeter,
Who never ceases his roam.

Upon awaking,
One may find him waiting,
With an offer.

He will guide the transformation,
Of which one seeks.

To become a creature of the land, or sea or sky.
To manifest as a brand new being born to a new family.

The change is guided by him,
But directed by the soul whose choice it is.

Sometimes, it is said,
One can hear around the Yews that line the tombs,
The ticking of the beetle upon the stave,
A ticking which haunts,
Like the sound of a clock,
Ever turning.