- (* = Not Yet Overhauled)
Coarse, rough-strung fibres sit in taut, parallel columns, backlit by a small, ditch-held fire. The light casts dimly on the brambles that border the small clearing, leaving long shadows over a small camp, backed by the sparkling night sky. The stars twinkle with curiosity, tiny winking lights between terrifyingly dark voids. The tanned elf, bearing loose fabrics and hair alike, regards the lyre with a knit brow, and so too do the hollow eyes in the dark, just a few feet into the brambles' edge. A chitinous leg moves, silently, over each spine of bramble, fangs dripping with venom, slavering for fresh meat, when a single twang gives it pause. Coarse though it may be, the lyre sings softly of lament, and the elf weaves lilting words through the fire, into the darkness.
And for a while, all were still, listening to a sombre song of lost souls.
Music survived the Desolation, bringing untold life to the Wastes, its importance known to those who hold it in their hearts, minds and souls. For some, a solemn whistle carries them onward as they march across unforgiving sands; for others, crossing hair over string gives them comfort in their lonely journey, and for many, a rousing ballad of heroes past and present fills them with hope - the scarcest commodity in these dark times.
Below are but a few of the songs the Wastes have left unscathed, dug up from times long past, or crafted new, a sign of progress in a world that has forsaken life. Find the lyrics on their respective pages.
A shanty sung by dregs and lowlifes of all walks, the chorus alone driving spine into the weak and giving them the strength to continue in a world that would still see them hanging by the same rope as a hundred others. Those of a higher standing see it as a reminder of hubris in the face of I-A, and never sing it - only tell its story.
Many songs in the Wheel take differing opinions on the Wardens. Around the campfire, strings rumbling with the deepest of voices, this song sings of pain and suffering at the hands of the Wardens, and the mistakes we make in their eyes. Filled with regret, this is a tune carried by those that don't view the Wardens with a great deal of trust. It serves, for many, as a reminder that we are prisoners, and they aren't our divine saviours - they are our Wardens.