In this age of myth and beast Where Sell-sword wages seldom decrease Comes a new terror, one with wings One with razor-sharp teeth Scales like plate-steel Its jagged horns a jagged crown Betwixt cloud and peak it flies A roar, always, before it dives Tracts of burning towns, villages Men, women, children, dogs, sheep Neither guard nor soldier can slay So, let us pray... A warrior of no name Her face a patchwork hood shades Old wounds battered armour veils Young still, though far from frail Yet the wisest Wizard knows not Where the Dragon might rest But for this task coin has a knack Gifting her a blood-stained map So she rides Quiver at her back; iron porcupine Each tip dipped in fell ichor Resolute bow held tight Two days to the eyrie Our hero more than capable Atop trusty steed, her noble mount Towards a beast, her hope to rout Sable silhouette against the setting Sun She dismounts on a precipice Overlooking the mouth of a clearing and cave A place hungering for a life to take She whispers low amid the howling wind Not for me or you to know Before descending to the lair Its sticky, sickly heat to bear Now she stands, sweating Waiting for her opponent to appear And so he does, eager to feed Never expecting her he'd greet "Hah," the Dragon grunts "If it's a brawl you want, it's a brawl you'll get You won't come between me and my feast But now... I think it is you I shall eat!" An arrow flies Shooting star against sky of night With a thunderous crack it impacts Sending her foe stumbling back "Oh yes!" the Dragon roars, heard miles away "Finally, finally; it is you to bring me pain I've longed for this battle, forever-and-a-day So allow me in-kind to repay!" From toothy grin comes red A belch of fire, ruin and smoke Showering our hero where she stands Reduced to ash, as if she were farmland... Yet, as the smoke clears The Dragon can plainly see With pupils wide and mouth agape That his enemy has not been beat! Our hero, crouched on one knee Rises from the cinders with ease And with a roar of her own let all know That Dragonborn is she "None could survive!" the beast bleats Readying an attack so as to retreat A whip of his tail, a shudder of his sail And fire once more did he spray "Wizened Lizard," she whispers, enflamed "This is the end of your games I know Death, he's an old friend And today he's here to collect!" Armour smoking, arrow loading A powerful shot rings true With force enough to snap her string Down the creature to bring Whimpers and whines tell all To land at her boots, the Dragon falls Though treacherous, deadly and fierce His skull she'd surely pierced "On you go, unyielding foe Now another notch on my bow This ancient cave I mark as your grave For the hellish battle you gave" Saviour, slayer, hero of the day! A thousand songs sung in her name So when next foul, winged winds thrum I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes
A near twelve-year-old poem I dug up in my room today. Do you know what else was revealed roughly twelve years ago? That’s right, Lego Pirates of the Caribbean… As well as the aforementioned title, Bethesda’s ubiquitous Skyrim also arrived on PS3, PC and XB360 (of which I had the pleasure of playing it on).
Twelve years ago… I was sixteen, impressionable and, to this day, in love with Skyrim. It gets a lot of shtick for Todd Howard’s incessant need to port it to every device imaginable, and for seemingly random updates that disrupt the modding fanbase, but there’s a reason Skyrim is still played, modded and talked about in 2023 – it’s universal, it’s freedom, it’s the ultimate medieval sim, and it can be modded from bow to stern to be whatever you want it to be.
At the time in 2007, I thought Oblivion was the be-all-and-end-all of gaming, but Skyrim was such a leap forward in technology and in what the player could do… I’m still in awe over it. Keeping in mind that 2011 was the end of the golden age of console gaming – MW3 came out, Dragon Age 2, Dead Space 2, Dark Souls, Minecraft. Good memories and a good time to have an Xbox, but it was all down hill from there!
Anyway; sixteen-year-old me wrote (pen-to-paper, actually wrote) the above, twenty-eight-year-old me cleaned it up and, in all that time, we’ve still been playing Skyrim. That’s legacy.
Auf Wiedersehen.
AJ Carney 