The Mist Wreathed Shores of Ur Rising
from Hark! The Whispering Dead of the Burial Lake by Fen Walker
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Special Limited Edition Cassette
Cassette + Digital AlbumExperience Fen Walker's masterpiece and immerse yourself in the land of Ur! This complete package includes Hark! The Whispering Dead Of The Burial Lake on transparent purple Super Ferro cassette encased in the beautiful art work from Brendan Elliot. A full 11x17 poster of the album art and a Fen Walker pro-sticker. A hand made 4 oz. "Barrow Musk" candle to burn as you set out on your journey. Plus a hand bound booklet with the whole story, including artwork and a map with the characters paths lined out for you to follow while you listen!
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Hark! The Whispering Dead of the Burial Lake Cassette Bundle
Cassette + Digital AlbumThese are artist copies of the Lamp and Dagger release of Hark! The Whisper Dead of the Burial Lake. This bundle includes a pro-dubbed cassette with O-card, a hand-crafted candle, a poster, a story booklet, and a die-cut sticker.
Includes unlimited streaming of Hark! The Whispering Dead of the Burial Lake 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!.
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lyrics
God’s it was cold! Soja sat in the bow of the boat, Woja’s stinking animal fur about her shoulders. Reeking, lecherous sailors milling about. She cleaned her rifle to keep her mind busy, lest rage should over take her. Yet, despite the repetitive comfort of her task, her mother’s words, uttered a season ago in the great keep remained hungry, and continued to gnaw.
She had been spying on her mother and sister. Why should Woja be summoned to a secret council and not her? From behind a wall length curtain, she had heard the conversation in hushed tones. Their mother was dying. This Soja had suspected. She had felt deep sorrow then, not for her mother's imminent passing, but for lack of grief. She had loved her mother, but Woja had been her mother's star, not her.
Much of the remaining conversation was so hushed she was unable to hear it. She heard enough to understand their plan: “take me home” and “barrow.” The crazy woman, she meant for Woja to take her back to Ur, if it were a real place at all, to be buried. Then, her mother’s final words, clear as the midday bell, struck her like iron shot: “Do not tell you sister, she is not strong enough.”
It was a summer’s eve that Woja and her mother escaped the City of the Great Seat undetected by all but Soja. She had followed them into the woods at a distance. Her mother detected her, the confrontation with Woja had been violent. Woja was to be Jarl, and it was her duty to remain and take the great seat when it was her time. Father would be furious, as would the guardians. Woja would have none of it.
“It is my duty as the eldest to fulfill our mother’s final wishes,” she said.
“Those are her ways, the old ways!” Soja hissed, wiping blood from her nose, a token of their brief battle. “ Look!” she said, jabbing a finger to the distant city, “progression, industry, the Scire!”
Woja looked to home, her strange, scarred face impassive. The white towers and walls lit with the glow of coal fire were impressive, yet within the walls many suffered, while the few, she included, lived in luxury.
She turned her back on the city, with its forward-looking yet backwards people and its cloud of coal smoke.
“Come mother, we have a long way to go and your strength shall not last.”
“What about father?” Soja said.
“He’s not our father,” Woja replied, not looking back. Soja stood alone watching her family depart into the darkness of the woods.
“Come along little one,” her mother called weakly from the trees.
Soja had followed reluctantly, leaving small rune markings in the soil for Kyllar and Pjorlar, their guardians, to follow, "She's not strong enough," echoing in her head.
“Mother! Mother!” Woja’s cries cleaved into Soja’s reveries. She leapt up and rushed to the stern. Her mother had gone as pale as Woja, her eyes unfocused and filled with tears. She lifted a shaking hand to point off into the sea. There on the horizon, land rose up from the waters, dressed in silks of morning mist. She spoke in the old language then. “Home” she uttered, and her spirit departed.
She had been spying on her mother and sister. Why should Woja be summoned to a secret council and not her? From behind a wall length curtain, she had heard the conversation in hushed tones. Their mother was dying. This Soja had suspected. She had felt deep sorrow then, not for her mother's imminent passing, but for lack of grief. She had loved her mother, but Woja had been her mother's star, not her.
Much of the remaining conversation was so hushed she was unable to hear it. She heard enough to understand their plan: “take me home” and “barrow.” The crazy woman, she meant for Woja to take her back to Ur, if it were a real place at all, to be buried. Then, her mother’s final words, clear as the midday bell, struck her like iron shot: “Do not tell you sister, she is not strong enough.”
It was a summer’s eve that Woja and her mother escaped the City of the Great Seat undetected by all but Soja. She had followed them into the woods at a distance. Her mother detected her, the confrontation with Woja had been violent. Woja was to be Jarl, and it was her duty to remain and take the great seat when it was her time. Father would be furious, as would the guardians. Woja would have none of it.
“It is my duty as the eldest to fulfill our mother’s final wishes,” she said.
“Those are her ways, the old ways!” Soja hissed, wiping blood from her nose, a token of their brief battle. “ Look!” she said, jabbing a finger to the distant city, “progression, industry, the Scire!”
Woja looked to home, her strange, scarred face impassive. The white towers and walls lit with the glow of coal fire were impressive, yet within the walls many suffered, while the few, she included, lived in luxury.
She turned her back on the city, with its forward-looking yet backwards people and its cloud of coal smoke.
“Come mother, we have a long way to go and your strength shall not last.”
“What about father?” Soja said.
“He’s not our father,” Woja replied, not looking back. Soja stood alone watching her family depart into the darkness of the woods.
“Come along little one,” her mother called weakly from the trees.
Soja had followed reluctantly, leaving small rune markings in the soil for Kyllar and Pjorlar, their guardians, to follow, "She's not strong enough," echoing in her head.
“Mother! Mother!” Woja’s cries cleaved into Soja’s reveries. She leapt up and rushed to the stern. Her mother had gone as pale as Woja, her eyes unfocused and filled with tears. She lifted a shaking hand to point off into the sea. There on the horizon, land rose up from the waters, dressed in silks of morning mist. She spoke in the old language then. “Home” she uttered, and her spirit departed.
credits
from Hark! The Whispering Dead of the Burial Lake,
released November 27, 2020
license
all rights reserved
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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 -
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May 2020 -
Nov 2019 -
Aug 2019
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