Dorlan

In a land seemingly tranquil
Subterranean pagan rules unseen,
Theres an esoteric euphoria above this,
and those like Dorlan in between,
And most times its in balance,
And everything goes just as planned,
But now and then it all starts again,
And proceeds to get out of hand,
And then the skies become more leaden,
And the lightning starts to play,
And the nether beings stir awake,
And those above start to pray,
For all the palaces cathedrals and cities,
That surmount what once were heaths,
No one knows of the castles and fortresses,
that are hidden so deep beneath,
there are tunnels and caverns and caves,
monoliths pyramids and runes,
theres whisperings of pagan lore,
and sibbillant silent ghostly tunes,
and those above always sense this,
and tremor slightly deep inside,
about flittering shadows dimly perceived,
that hover and weave and glide,
and they pray because they know it helps,
but have long forgotten why,
But they succeed in alerting Dorlan,
To the fact that they might die,
a grisly and macabre deathly pale fate
endemic of pagan forces recently stirred,
tweaked into action once more,
by the thunder we all just heard,
And its creepy and echoing and hollow,
the flagstoned steps descending down
betwixt our world and the pagans,
slumbering and simmering deep underground,
and hes at a lower level now,
at a hatch in the dungeon of a citadel,
hideous gargoyles stare down at him,
And this does not auger well,
bur Dorlan he is of warrior blood,
bred down the ages to survive,
so can venture to the bowels of the earth,
and stand a chance of returning alive,
and its dark and wet and quiet and dank,
and rustlings and hissings they abound,
and suddenly theres a host of them,
suddenly they are all around,
and they whisper and watch and point,
and they wonder what he can be,
they move towards him from all corners,
soon theyre everywhere he can see,
and he speaks in a lazy drawl,
not quiet yet not loud,
"take me to your druids"
intoned Dorlan standing proud,
"i am he the intermediary,
betwixt their world and thine,
and i would council with the druids,
talk through the pacts of olden times,
these may need a tweaking
may need an altering or being renewed,
so its important i see the druids,
as no one wants them to brood,
far better to seek a solution,
to renegotiate a new accord,
than to simmer and feud and mutilate,
and have you at war with their lords."
so it came to pass he was presented,
to the druids all gathered near,
and he presented all his mitigating factors,
in a voice both loud and clear,
and he thought it had gone down well,
just before he was torn apart,
the minions ate the most of him,
whilst the Druids retained the heart,
for they had respected him for eons,
but those above had over transgressed,
butchering all the animal life,
from the puny undergrowth that was left,
all that remained of forests abundant,
and vibrant life it had contained inside,
now all the trees were long since felled,
and all the wildlife had died,
so its quiet and dark and brooding now,
where the overlanders were alive,
and everyone is being hunted down,
and few of them will survive,
just a sprinkling with an inkling,
of how life ought to be,
all the others are perishing daily,
in ways unimaginely ghoulishly,
and theres no Dorlans left to save them,
no bargaining with these foes,
just a few left alive to replant the trees,
and a few more who animals transpose,
putting the world back as it was meant to be,
as it was before knockings in the night,
became more real than imagined,
became the source of terror and of fright,
and no one escaped their justice,
who deserved their fate for not trying,
to save the trees from burning,
to save the animals from dying.