The Long Hunt
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
Record/Vinyl + Digital AlbumA Repose Records edition of "Fare Thee Well Battle Winds," with expanded art on a gatefold sleeve and a black and purple swirl vinyl.
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"Fare Thee Well Battle Winds" black and purple 12' vinyl and Barrow Seeker Patch combo
Record/Vinyl + Digital AlbumA bundle that includes both a 12" vinyl of "Fare Thee Well Battle Winds," and a Barrow Seeker woven patch. Limited to 1 per customer.
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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.
See pictures for an example of damage.
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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.
Includes unlimited streaming of Fare Thee Well Battle Winds via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.Sold Out
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Full Digital Discography
Get all 6 Fen Walker releases available on Bandcamp and save 25%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Behold! Visions From the Scrying Pool!, Fare Thee Well Battle Winds, Hark! The Whispering Dead of the Burial Lake, Sojourns in the Realm of the Undermoon, The Totem Wilds Call Thy Name, and Hail! O' Barrow Lands!.
Purchasable with gift card$7.50 USD or more (25% OFF)
lyrics
After two weeks, she could still feel Daeja’s kiss upon her brow, the weight of Pjorlar’s arms about her, his large warm hands on the small of her back, tokens of their love as they bid her farewell. Now, she sat alone by a small fire, turning the spitted wood eel she had caught that afternoon. Its sizzling flesh smelled delicious, but she had little appetite. She thought about what must be done: the disinterment of an ancient evil, a warrior and a former enemy of her mother. The Council was enraged by her plan and suspicious of her claims of invasion. Woja’s aunt however was the wiser of her counter parts, and had informants far and wide. She too knew of the coming invasion, of the villages burning on the north coast, of the barrows and shrines ransacked for their treasures.
“My sister’s child tells the truth and though I too despair at waking that bringer of destruction, it seems our greatest recourse, for how are we to fight this enemy? We no longer know the ways of war. We choose between slavery, or and honorable death. I would choose death.” Aursa’s declaration had brought much argument and a short verbal war commenced between the council members.
“How will this woman challenge the Khan?” It was a fair question, and answer was, none could. Not without the aid of a weapon lost to time.
Long ago, a Wanderess fell in battle and her weapon, The Tusk was lost. The Tusk was the finest spear point ever crafted for a barrow walker. The Tooth and The Fang, her mother’s points were its lesser siblings. There were fables told of the joining of these three spears and the wonders, or horrors (depending on who was telling the tale) that would take place in their joining. Most agreed such a meeting of these holy artifacts would never take place, for The Tusk would never be found. Woja, thanks to her mother, knew where it was.
Woja took the wood eel from the fire and pulled the skin from its flesh. She ate without tasting, thinking of Daeja laughing and his father chased him through their field in spring, of her and Pjorlar hunting Skarg together in winter and then of their lovemaking by the fire amidst winter woods. She tossed the bones of the eel into the darkness, nestled into her cloak of fur and closed her eyes. Sleep did not come easily.
The ancient battle field where that time forgotten Wanderess fell to a sorcerer’s minions was covered in a blanket of thick moss. Woja surveyed the area, a plain of green that disappeared into the mists of the surrounding bog, its flatness broken only by the occasional mass. Woja strode quickly to the nearest mass and tore away the moss revealing moldering bones and rusted armor of a long dead warrior. There was an ululation in the distant fog. They were closing in. The people of this region had not taken kindly to the trespass of their land. Clearly this tribe did not heed the ruling of the council: no land was forbidden to any, save for the few well known ceremonial islands.
Woja rushed forth, and slipping and tumbling over moss and the remains hidden beneath, she made her way to the center of the battle field where The Tusk would be found. The tree where the Wanderess had been transfixed still stood, a moss shrouded monument to bloodshed. She reached the tree as spears and darts began to land about her. Her assailants were well out of range, affecting their aim, but there was still the chance she would catch one my misfortune. With her spear she cut at the thick moss and tore it away in strips. At the foot of the tree lay a mound of bones and weaponry, all gone black with the countless centuries, above, a partial skeleton hung, a spear piercing tree and breastbone.
A dart buried itself into the bark by Woja’s head, it glistened with black venom. One dart to her flesh and her journey would be over. She began to dig down into the bones and armor, flinging helm and femur alike. A spear landed in the skeletal pile not far from her shoulder. She grabbed it and hurled it into the mist. She heard a scream. She felt a deep shame, and hoped she had not killed anyone, she was the invader here. She continued down into the bones. There was the wet padding of quick footfalls on moss then the rattle of bones. Woja moved aside a rusted breast plate and was suddenly blinded by an immense emerald glow. She looked away and saw the three Bog Landers on the bones above her, poised to strike. But they too had seen the light and were looking away from the blinding radiance. Woja took this moment to unsheathe her short blade and struck three times with it pommel. Each strike found its mark, sending her assailants rolling down the pile of bones, clutching groin or knee. Woja knelt to collect what she had long sought and found that its glow had abated. She reached for it and singed her fingers upon its strange metal. Franticly she tore away more moss from the tree and wrapped the spear head. More Bog Landers were scaling the bone pile. Clutching the moss wrapped relic to her chest, Woja un-slung her spear and kept the oncoming war party at bay with sharp thrusts of her weapon as she slowly circled the base of the tree. On the other she found more Bog Landers, she was surrounded.
There was suddenly a howl in the mist. It wasn’t the sound of Bog Vyrpa or Taarg, a common enough beast in these lands. It was primal and ancient. It stopped the war party cold, many turning their back on Woja to stare into the mist. There was the sound of a tree being felled, its mass crashing into the bog. Some of the war party fled as that guttural, primeval call sounded again. Woja chose this moment to flee. She slid swiftly down the bones and landing on her feet at the bottom charged into the swift sprint. She heard yells and the whistle of passing darts and spears but soon those sounds were behind her as she dissolved into the mist.
“My sister’s child tells the truth and though I too despair at waking that bringer of destruction, it seems our greatest recourse, for how are we to fight this enemy? We no longer know the ways of war. We choose between slavery, or and honorable death. I would choose death.” Aursa’s declaration had brought much argument and a short verbal war commenced between the council members.
“How will this woman challenge the Khan?” It was a fair question, and answer was, none could. Not without the aid of a weapon lost to time.
Long ago, a Wanderess fell in battle and her weapon, The Tusk was lost. The Tusk was the finest spear point ever crafted for a barrow walker. The Tooth and The Fang, her mother’s points were its lesser siblings. There were fables told of the joining of these three spears and the wonders, or horrors (depending on who was telling the tale) that would take place in their joining. Most agreed such a meeting of these holy artifacts would never take place, for The Tusk would never be found. Woja, thanks to her mother, knew where it was.
Woja took the wood eel from the fire and pulled the skin from its flesh. She ate without tasting, thinking of Daeja laughing and his father chased him through their field in spring, of her and Pjorlar hunting Skarg together in winter and then of their lovemaking by the fire amidst winter woods. She tossed the bones of the eel into the darkness, nestled into her cloak of fur and closed her eyes. Sleep did not come easily.
The ancient battle field where that time forgotten Wanderess fell to a sorcerer’s minions was covered in a blanket of thick moss. Woja surveyed the area, a plain of green that disappeared into the mists of the surrounding bog, its flatness broken only by the occasional mass. Woja strode quickly to the nearest mass and tore away the moss revealing moldering bones and rusted armor of a long dead warrior. There was an ululation in the distant fog. They were closing in. The people of this region had not taken kindly to the trespass of their land. Clearly this tribe did not heed the ruling of the council: no land was forbidden to any, save for the few well known ceremonial islands.
Woja rushed forth, and slipping and tumbling over moss and the remains hidden beneath, she made her way to the center of the battle field where The Tusk would be found. The tree where the Wanderess had been transfixed still stood, a moss shrouded monument to bloodshed. She reached the tree as spears and darts began to land about her. Her assailants were well out of range, affecting their aim, but there was still the chance she would catch one my misfortune. With her spear she cut at the thick moss and tore it away in strips. At the foot of the tree lay a mound of bones and weaponry, all gone black with the countless centuries, above, a partial skeleton hung, a spear piercing tree and breastbone.
A dart buried itself into the bark by Woja’s head, it glistened with black venom. One dart to her flesh and her journey would be over. She began to dig down into the bones and armor, flinging helm and femur alike. A spear landed in the skeletal pile not far from her shoulder. She grabbed it and hurled it into the mist. She heard a scream. She felt a deep shame, and hoped she had not killed anyone, she was the invader here. She continued down into the bones. There was the wet padding of quick footfalls on moss then the rattle of bones. Woja moved aside a rusted breast plate and was suddenly blinded by an immense emerald glow. She looked away and saw the three Bog Landers on the bones above her, poised to strike. But they too had seen the light and were looking away from the blinding radiance. Woja took this moment to unsheathe her short blade and struck three times with it pommel. Each strike found its mark, sending her assailants rolling down the pile of bones, clutching groin or knee. Woja knelt to collect what she had long sought and found that its glow had abated. She reached for it and singed her fingers upon its strange metal. Franticly she tore away more moss from the tree and wrapped the spear head. More Bog Landers were scaling the bone pile. Clutching the moss wrapped relic to her chest, Woja un-slung her spear and kept the oncoming war party at bay with sharp thrusts of her weapon as she slowly circled the base of the tree. On the other she found more Bog Landers, she was surrounded.
There was suddenly a howl in the mist. It wasn’t the sound of Bog Vyrpa or Taarg, a common enough beast in these lands. It was primal and ancient. It stopped the war party cold, many turning their back on Woja to stare into the mist. There was the sound of a tree being felled, its mass crashing into the bog. Some of the war party fled as that guttural, primeval call sounded again. Woja chose this moment to flee. She slid swiftly down the bones and landing on her feet at the bottom charged into the swift sprint. She heard yells and the whistle of passing darts and spears but soon those sounds were behind her as she dissolved into the mist.
credits
from Fare Thee Well Battle Winds,
released November 5, 2021
Wayfarer-orchestration
Wayfarer-orchestration
license
all rights reserved
tags
about
Fen Walker Portland, Oregon
The music of the barbaric and sorcery scarred lands of Ur.
discography
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May 2022 -
Nov 2021 -
Nov 2020 -
Nov 2020 -
May 2020 -
Nov 2019 -
Aug 2019
contact / help
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