The Dead Teach the Living the Ways of War
from Fare Thee Well Battle Winds by Fen Walker
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"Fare Thee Well Battle Winds" 12" black and purple swirl vinyl. Edition by Repose Records
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"Fare Thee Well Battle Winds" black and purple 12' vinyl and Barrow Seeker Patch combo
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Limited Edition Cassette
Cassette + Digital AlbumVenture into the frozen territory of Ur! Fen Walker's silvery Pro Cassette brings this epic fantasy to life with exceptional O-card packaging. A 4oz. Totem Woods candle to whisk you through the snow covered forests and the windy battlegrounds. Includes a transparent Fen Walker sticker and album art poster painted by fantasy lord Brendan Elliot!
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Battle Damaged Edition! 12" Vinyl (READ DESCRIPTION BEFORE ORDERING)
Record/Vinyl + Digital AlbumREAD BEFORE ORDERING: The jackets on these vinyl were damaged during shipment, therefore I am offering them at a discount. The corners of the jackets show creases and wear from where the boxes were dropped by the shipping company. These are sold as is and are non-returnable.
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Wayfarer's Winter War Bundle
Cassette + Digital AlbumThese are artist copies of the Lamp and Dagger release of "Fare Thee Well Battle Winds." This bundle includes a pro-dubbed cassette with O-card, a hand-crafted candle, a poster, and a die-cut sticker.
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lyrics
During the following weeks, more joined them. But while some joined, others deserted. The cold hardships of winter and the rigorous and relentless training of the Khan, forced many to slip away into the night.
“You should have them hunted and executed,” The old warlord said one night, “make an example of them.”
“That is their ways, not ours,” Pjorlar returned, pointing north where the Hegemony was camped several leagues away. He did not trust the Khan, nobody did. They were all aware of his past, of his attempted conquest of the Western peninsula, of his destruction by the hands of the Wanderess. But Pjorlar was aware that his frightening size and appearance would aid them in the coming battles. And his knowledge of tactics was indispensible, no matter how antiquated. He only wished he knew what the Khan’s plans were. They were simply not to aid the living and then be killed by Woja’s spear, he knew that much.
As winter wore one, the war horde slowly learned the ways of war. The Khan was relentless in his training; some had even died under his tutelage. But they learned the use of spear and shield; they had armed themselves from the countless vaults and caches that littered the land and they remained angry, the dead warlord saw to that. He told stories of the atrocities committed by the Hegemony which fueled the fires of their rage, keeping it hot for coming battle.
Regardless of this progress, Woja was in a deep gloom. This “army” would be defeated. The hegemony with its arquesbus, cannonade and air ships would defeat them before the morning of the battle was over.
“You best be careful sister, there is something evil in the wood,” came a familiar voice from behind her. Woja spun around, her spear poised to strike. Her sister was not alone. She stood among a band of ragged Urish men and woman.
“What are you doing here Battlemaster?” she snarled. Soja did not seem phased by her sister’s vehemence, in fact, it had been expected.
“We went our own ways, you stayed, I did not. Don’t be angry at me for the way the river of my life flowed,” she said softly. She was thin, haggard. A large scar ran from eye brow to chin.
“We’ve been harrying the Hegemonic Warbands for months. Following them south, cutting off their supply lines, sabotaging their weapons,” a man to Soja’s right, clearly Urish, said.
“Last week we were ambushed by Kyllars men, then something in the woods— this is all that left of our original two hundred,” Soja said gesturing to the twenty or so Urish gathered. “We’ve brought weapons and supplies, as much as we could carry.”
Woja lowered her spear. She heard no treachery in her sister’s voice.
“Ask for Pjorlar, he’ll see that you are fed,” she said to Soja’s band. The small ragged group departed and went down the slope to the camp.
“Are you going to take this from me?” Woja said when they were alone and held out the spear tipped with the faintly glowing Tusk. Soja shook her head.
“Have you a man or a child?”
“No.”
“Then take it from me, you must, you’re worthy.”
“And you can’t? What’s your child’s name?”
“Daeja son of Pjorlar.”
“Pjorlar,” Soja scoffed, “so he lives, and is leading this army?”
“A dead man leads the army.” Woja said. Soja walked to her sisters side. They looked down on the army as it went through its afternoon training. “Kyllar will be furious.”
“Good,” Woja said and they laughed.
“You should have them hunted and executed,” The old warlord said one night, “make an example of them.”
“That is their ways, not ours,” Pjorlar returned, pointing north where the Hegemony was camped several leagues away. He did not trust the Khan, nobody did. They were all aware of his past, of his attempted conquest of the Western peninsula, of his destruction by the hands of the Wanderess. But Pjorlar was aware that his frightening size and appearance would aid them in the coming battles. And his knowledge of tactics was indispensible, no matter how antiquated. He only wished he knew what the Khan’s plans were. They were simply not to aid the living and then be killed by Woja’s spear, he knew that much.
As winter wore one, the war horde slowly learned the ways of war. The Khan was relentless in his training; some had even died under his tutelage. But they learned the use of spear and shield; they had armed themselves from the countless vaults and caches that littered the land and they remained angry, the dead warlord saw to that. He told stories of the atrocities committed by the Hegemony which fueled the fires of their rage, keeping it hot for coming battle.
Regardless of this progress, Woja was in a deep gloom. This “army” would be defeated. The hegemony with its arquesbus, cannonade and air ships would defeat them before the morning of the battle was over.
“You best be careful sister, there is something evil in the wood,” came a familiar voice from behind her. Woja spun around, her spear poised to strike. Her sister was not alone. She stood among a band of ragged Urish men and woman.
“What are you doing here Battlemaster?” she snarled. Soja did not seem phased by her sister’s vehemence, in fact, it had been expected.
“We went our own ways, you stayed, I did not. Don’t be angry at me for the way the river of my life flowed,” she said softly. She was thin, haggard. A large scar ran from eye brow to chin.
“We’ve been harrying the Hegemonic Warbands for months. Following them south, cutting off their supply lines, sabotaging their weapons,” a man to Soja’s right, clearly Urish, said.
“Last week we were ambushed by Kyllars men, then something in the woods— this is all that left of our original two hundred,” Soja said gesturing to the twenty or so Urish gathered. “We’ve brought weapons and supplies, as much as we could carry.”
Woja lowered her spear. She heard no treachery in her sister’s voice.
“Ask for Pjorlar, he’ll see that you are fed,” she said to Soja’s band. The small ragged group departed and went down the slope to the camp.
“Are you going to take this from me?” Woja said when they were alone and held out the spear tipped with the faintly glowing Tusk. Soja shook her head.
“Have you a man or a child?”
“No.”
“Then take it from me, you must, you’re worthy.”
“And you can’t? What’s your child’s name?”
“Daeja son of Pjorlar.”
“Pjorlar,” Soja scoffed, “so he lives, and is leading this army?”
“A dead man leads the army.” Woja said. Soja walked to her sisters side. They looked down on the army as it went through its afternoon training. “Kyllar will be furious.”
“Good,” Woja said and they laughed.
credits
from Fare Thee Well Battle Winds,
released November 5, 2021
Wayfarer-orchestration
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Fen Walker Portland, Oregon
The music of the barbaric and sorcery scarred lands of Ur.
discography
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Aug 2019
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