Mines of Old

Also known as Morg'ur's story

Words by Brian Tollady.

A long time ago in Varushka of old, Below snow-laden ground a story is told, Born is an orc, young, free, unbound, Then sold as a slave to work deep underground.

Cold is the breeze that flows through the air, Past tired orc folk full of dread and despair, There he will stay a decade and more, If you don’t see the sun you could never be sure.

Tight are the shackles that keep him in chains, They say he must work but nothing he gains, Down in the tunnels and caves black as night, Working all day by dim candle light.

Voices start to call out, though no one's around, Through blood death and tears his purpose is found, Soon he will stand beside Fenrak his lord, Fighting as shaman with skull staff and sword.

Times moved on and now we are free, And this orc's still around, for this story's of me, Morg'ur is my name and pale's my face, I’ve been fighting in wars since those days of Thrace.

Though my body is old my soul still shines bright, Give me Druj, Thule or Jotun, I'm first to the fight, From a slave to a warlord my time's still not done, Too busy waging a war leading the Winter Sun.

A long time ago in Vaushka of old…