Draugr daughter; Dreadful death:
There once was a daughter of a man at the forge,
In a village shaded by the mountain’s shroud.
One day, while gathering herbs near the gorge,
She tripped and fell where the cliffs were proud.
Within, she spluttered and spat with a shout,
Yet clawed her way free from the chasm's blight.
But alas, she emerged not just dirtied throughout,
For her arm bore the mark of a strange, sharp bite.
Thus, as days passed, she became one all feared,
The draugr, the daughter of a man at the forge.
Drip and drape, she wept as the townsfolk jeered,
Even her father, at dinner, could not help but disgorge.
Till a fateful day, she was sold for a slip,
A trade unworthy, even for one who forges.
She became the general's cannon-fodder, his grip,
Sent ahead to take arrows by General George.
Days passed till at last she was left behind,
Her body creaked and cracked as she wept, drip-drab.
Till a soft voice asked, "What is this rattle I find?"
And two weary eyes beneath black hair had nabbed.
"Oh, my sweet," he whispered to the draugr's daughter,
It was Efil, the necromancer, dark and sly.
His hand held power, wicked as fire and water,
Yet she welcomed his touch beneath the cursed sky.
His magic restored her, pale as the rain,
Her hair turned raven, slick and sleek.
Their love was born from a morbid chain,
A draugr's daughter and one so unique.
For her, he raised musicians anew,
Their melodies soon turned to flowers.
But fate called Efil, as destinies do,
To transform into Life’s eternal tower.
The draugr daughter bore this with strife,
Her heart grew dark, vengeance her breath.
Till she warped and changed through her cursed life,
No longer a draugr, but Dreadful Death.
