Work Text:
the south of Drakkar is a wasteland, it's true
so far from the depths and decks of old
a triton, barnacled and bold as they come
is drawn unwittingly into the fold
once a hunter of monsters deep
menacing anchor in hand
through rage and reckless abandon and love
he lays them to rest in the sand
a mysterious lover from the depths
a voice in the shell to call you home
your work above the waves goes on
beyond the pull of the briny foam
accustomed to a life on deck or below
serving brandy and food to all
raising the spirits of able men
Barnabos Dreadwake answers the call
in a land of survival, ice and fear
though you desperately want nothing more
it may yet still be many cold years
'till your feet leave this treacherous shore