These are what's left of the writings of Muc the Rememberer
Born day 585 of the 126th Long Tide, Age of the Witch
Died day 457 of the 128th Long Tide, Age of the Babagoora
What Hope is there
When war and contagion
Scar the slumbersome land
And the nights of winter
Freeze furze and finger
Stay the strong, honest hand
Of the working man
And the potato crop fails
And terror with pestilence spreads
And greed and fury
And murderous thoughts
Nest and fester in heads
And beds
And Gods are only for the rich
And the Absence is all there seems to be
The kingdom is falling
Its people are crawling
Black and bloody from nose to knee
What hope is there
Is that hope you keep
From one day when the world felt just right
When your mother fed you
Or your father held you
And sang to you into the night
Hope is a memory
A knowledge of something
That has been and so could be
The good in the world
If fought for and not forgotten
Will come back again
You will see
When you die, daddy, I'll eat your flesh
After I've butchered you and roasted you on the spit
Salted your heart and carved you to bits
I'll drink of your blood, however much is left
When you die, daddy, I'll dance to your bones
Once I've hacked off your leg from your hip
And fashioned your ankle into a tip
And pierced five holes for each of the five sacred tones
When you die, daddy, your guts will be in mine
Your muscle will feed my pith and vitality
Your brains and your liver will become my tenacity
The strength of your back will harden my spine
When you die, daddy, I'll cling to your chest
I'll share with mother the grief of your leaving
And remember your eyes, before the ritual cleaving
Your words and your warmth before the Long Rest
Go roaring, to death, my sweet dying boy
Howl injustice to the moon and curse every fool who'll go on living
Let fly your soul, in these hours be not coy
Breathe flames in your fading, be not forgiving
I will come for you there, my sweet suffering son
Under the Table where no mortal may wander
I will lay blade to the Babagoora, see their magic undone
You will hear me coming, the rolling of thunder
Go now, from here, go off softly below
Fear not in the darkness, think not of running
Go proudly and swiftly and in dying just know
That you'll hear me roaring, Death will hear me coming