Dark tales of a city in the mountain
Where only the crimson suns set their
Tricky eye.

Concerned people, their escape long forgotten
Only the glow of a huge dragon's stare
Stopped them being show.

Mirror of the mountain peace, a messenger sent
With letter. The curses of the Aingheal, the
Dragon blue.

Tasting Senators, frog like grooks, hairy spent
Trolls. Citizens fleeing to their caves as ice
Aingheal did spit.

Look at you now, proud city, your shops, Imperiate
Strong. With inns for supper and tea; she did not break
Your spirit.

--
Jamethiel Windsong

Penned by my hand on the 1st of Mayan, in the year 597 AF.