These Woods, Dressed in Robes of Winter
from Fare Thee Well Battle Winds by Fen Walker
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Streaming + DownloadIncludes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.Purchasable with gift card
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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!
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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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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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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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
The Battlemaster of the hegemony wept. She lay huddled under a felled tree; ice and snow had built up about it so that it formed a shallow cave. Through the trees suffused the glow of great fires and the sounds of screams and battle cries. Soja, daughter of the Jarl of the Hegemony, and first woman Battlemaster blubbered in a cave of snow. She had begged her father for the honor. Kyllar, no longer her guardian had risen to the rank of Warmaster. He had vehemently opposed her request, as had many of the high ranking officers of Hegemic Warhost. The Jarl however, citing his daughter’s heroic actions on the battle field of Charn and her quick, decisive maneuvers as acting Seigelord during the forlorn hope of Underwurn, awarded his daughter the title of Battlemaster.
She had proven herself worthy of the title as she lead campaign upon campaign against the northern coalitions. Her waking hours were the roar of cannonade and the screams of the dying, the clash of halberd and sword and the hum of airship and the bellow of their deadly freight. But here, in her mother’s home land, this was not warfare. It was genocide.
“These animals will not fight, and they will not obey as slave,” Warmaster Kyllar drunkenly mused one night during mess, “it seems the only action is to drive them south!” He banged his flagon upon the table, “Burn them from their hovels!” Another thud of flagon on table and the slosh of ale, “Kill them all!” A final thud and the flagon separated it from its handle. There was a roar of approval from the men.
What followed was a campaign of terror along the greater parts of the northern coast. Warmaster Kyllar hated this land and its denizens. His journey through the continent some decade ago had sparked a burning hatred for this strange and pagan wilderness. He spread this hatred to his Warbands who took great pleasure in the rape, torture and murder of the Urish people while Soja looked on in horror and disgust, unable to take any action against the atrocities.
Soja wiped the tears from her face and emerged from her hiding place. She could see figures darting between the trees, Urish running into the woods and certain death of exposure, rather than face the horror of the invaders.
“Soja!” Kyllar called from the edge of the forest, “where are you!” She could see his armored bulk some yards away, silhouetted by the flaming carnage behind him. The stinking wretch, how she wished she had left him here to die all those years ago. How she wished she had fed him to the lost souls that had chased them through these very woods.
“Soja!”
She thought on her mother’s final words to her: You are the strongest. For many years these words had aided her in conquering her enemies, urging her on to victory after victory. Now, they simply urged her to walk away. And she did.
Pjorlar wept when he saw Woja, standing on a high hill crowned with ancestral totems, the night sky bright shining with stars. For many months they had been parted, and long had he traveled to reach her. With the Hegemic Warhost a confirmed threat, men and woman had been sent to all corners of Ur to muster war bands. Pjorlar, as a former man of the Hegemony, few in the council trusted him. But Aursa saw his value.
“He is a fighting man and he knows the ways of the enemy, and he loves his woman, my sister’s daughter. For these reasons, I give credence to this man’s desire to aid us.” Aursa said, and the rest of the council grudgingly gave their assent.
Far to the east Pjorlar had traveled, gathering volunteers as he went. By the time he had reached the eastern coast, he had gathered only four hundred and thirty men and woman! Now standing only a hundred strides from his love, he had amassed a war horde behind him, five thousand strong! He strode beneath snow covered branches, limbs dripping with icicles, the din of thousands of boots on snow. Wojar began to descend the high hill, and then recognizing him, broke into a run. Pjorlar, dropping his pack, began to sprint to her. They met and embraced, all the weary leagues of marching, all the cold lonely nights and terror that stalked between the trees melted away. There were no words, just the meeting of lips and taste of tears. A shadow appeared the top of the high hill known as the crown.
“Ah, joyful reunion,” the shadow said to itself, “love while you can, for soon you will know only war.”
She had proven herself worthy of the title as she lead campaign upon campaign against the northern coalitions. Her waking hours were the roar of cannonade and the screams of the dying, the clash of halberd and sword and the hum of airship and the bellow of their deadly freight. But here, in her mother’s home land, this was not warfare. It was genocide.
“These animals will not fight, and they will not obey as slave,” Warmaster Kyllar drunkenly mused one night during mess, “it seems the only action is to drive them south!” He banged his flagon upon the table, “Burn them from their hovels!” Another thud of flagon on table and the slosh of ale, “Kill them all!” A final thud and the flagon separated it from its handle. There was a roar of approval from the men.
What followed was a campaign of terror along the greater parts of the northern coast. Warmaster Kyllar hated this land and its denizens. His journey through the continent some decade ago had sparked a burning hatred for this strange and pagan wilderness. He spread this hatred to his Warbands who took great pleasure in the rape, torture and murder of the Urish people while Soja looked on in horror and disgust, unable to take any action against the atrocities.
Soja wiped the tears from her face and emerged from her hiding place. She could see figures darting between the trees, Urish running into the woods and certain death of exposure, rather than face the horror of the invaders.
“Soja!” Kyllar called from the edge of the forest, “where are you!” She could see his armored bulk some yards away, silhouetted by the flaming carnage behind him. The stinking wretch, how she wished she had left him here to die all those years ago. How she wished she had fed him to the lost souls that had chased them through these very woods.
“Soja!”
She thought on her mother’s final words to her: You are the strongest. For many years these words had aided her in conquering her enemies, urging her on to victory after victory. Now, they simply urged her to walk away. And she did.
Pjorlar wept when he saw Woja, standing on a high hill crowned with ancestral totems, the night sky bright shining with stars. For many months they had been parted, and long had he traveled to reach her. With the Hegemic Warhost a confirmed threat, men and woman had been sent to all corners of Ur to muster war bands. Pjorlar, as a former man of the Hegemony, few in the council trusted him. But Aursa saw his value.
“He is a fighting man and he knows the ways of the enemy, and he loves his woman, my sister’s daughter. For these reasons, I give credence to this man’s desire to aid us.” Aursa said, and the rest of the council grudgingly gave their assent.
Far to the east Pjorlar had traveled, gathering volunteers as he went. By the time he had reached the eastern coast, he had gathered only four hundred and thirty men and woman! Now standing only a hundred strides from his love, he had amassed a war horde behind him, five thousand strong! He strode beneath snow covered branches, limbs dripping with icicles, the din of thousands of boots on snow. Wojar began to descend the high hill, and then recognizing him, broke into a run. Pjorlar, dropping his pack, began to sprint to her. They met and embraced, all the weary leagues of marching, all the cold lonely nights and terror that stalked between the trees melted away. There were no words, just the meeting of lips and taste of tears. A shadow appeared the top of the high hill known as the crown.
“Ah, joyful reunion,” the shadow said to itself, “love while you can, for soon you will know only war.”
credits
from Fare Thee Well Battle Winds,
released November 5, 2021
Wayfarer-orchestration
Wayfarer-orchestration
license
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Fen Walker Portland, Oregon
The music of the barbaric and sorcery scarred lands of Ur.
discography
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May 2022 -
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Aug 2019
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