The Corpse Bird (poetry)

This is a creative work set in the world of Elanthia, attributed to its original author(s). It does not necessarily represent the official lore of GemStone IV.

Title: The Corpse Bird or Drae'cariael

Author: Rohese Bayvel-Timsh'l

First published on the 9th day of Jastatos in the year 5124

Drae'cariael
Created by Rohese's player using Midjourney AI.

Author's Notes

OOC: This poem arose after the discovery of a white-eyed black corpse bird in Naidem by Ordim using the Jeepers Creepers Spyglass and the speculated correlation on Discord with the Aderyn y Corff from Welsh folklore.

The poem is largely a nonsense rhyme as I was challenged to come up with something akin to the Jabberwocky by APM Thandiwe.

The term Drae'cariael has been used in place of "Aderyn corff" as an Elven derivative to fit Elanthia, where "drae" means death (taken from the Elven Lexicon) and "cariael" is of my own creation to mean carrion bird as I was unable to find an established term in the elven language for bird or a suitable substitute.

DRAE'CARIAEL or CORPSE BIRD

Beware the Drae'cariael, my child,
That flappers wingless in gloaming grey,
From Bittermere Woods to Moorlyn wild,
At dusk it skrees your breath away.

In gloom and bramble, thick and deep,
Where spirits drim and whispers thrum,
The corpse bird skivers from shivel'd sleep,
Its mournful cry, a ghastly hum.

Through driftling mist and crawp forlorn,
It seeks out souls long marked by fate.
No dawn shall rise for those it’s sworn,
No light shall pierce their final Gate.

In Naidem's wabe, where dreams are torn,
The cariael wrives an endless gloom.
Its eyes, like stars in sorrow worn,
Foretell the coming of the tomb.

By Gleyminn’s shore and Hollow's end,
The corpse bird casts its shadow tall.
It haunts where time and life outbends,
And leaves but silence where it falls.

With talons splick and beak of sprinde,
It reaps the threads the loom unwinds.
From Arachne’s web to Zelia's mind,
It culls the lost and thence it binds.

So when you hear that scrackling croon,
The chilling call from branches bare,
Seek not the comfort of the moon —
For death itself is in the air.

It knows the hour whence all must end,
It knows the breath that’s drawn in fear.
The frick-frack Drae'cariael descends,
And naught but emptiness draws near.

For in Naidem’s quiversome twilight hue,
Where draugrs outdrave and sluaghs betwine,
The corpse bird waits for me and you,
To claim its due in nonsense rhyme.