The Lay of Jorne Lonely-Heart

The first saga of Jorne Lonely-Heart translated to verse from transcripts discovered in the Bards College of Solitude c. 2E 148.

Hear now, hall-folk, hearken near, Raise the mead and bend your ear. I sing of Jorne of northern land, A mighty heart and axe-strong hand.

And Ihlfri Fair-Winter bright, Moon of snow and hearth-fire light; Since childhood's dawn their hearts were one, yet fate denied what love had won.

For to the Wolf-Mother, Mara mild, her parents pledged their longed-for child: "Grant but one daughter to our hall, and priestess shall she be through all."

So grew the pair through frost and years, through hidden joys and silent tears; Yet neither oath nor honor broke, though sorrow sat in every spoke.

No midnight theft, no faithless flight, No stolen kiss beneath the night. Hand clasped in hand, they swore instead: "Love shall endure where gods have led."

Then Shor in mighty dream-voice sent, To Jorne within his slumber bent: "Ride southward through the devil lands, where golden tyrants rule commands.

Seek there a shard of godly flame, A stolen spark of sacred name; Bring it to me, and by my hand no vow shall your true love withstand."

Then Jorne arose and made his peace, though grief and longing found no cease. No kiss he took before farewell, only clasped hands that promised well.

Across the Jeralls cold and high, A snow-white hawk crossed winter sky. Kyne's own sign above him wheeled, its shining wings by frost concealed.

Yet weary Jorne sought cave and spring, Warm meat and sleep's soft comforting. He followed not where omen flew, and Kyne remembers what men do.

For winter answered with her wrath: A blizzard swallowed every path. Three days he fought through snow and night, till darkness stole away his sight.

Then Sovngarde rose before his eyes, Beneath eternal northern skies. He saw the Hall of honored dead, and feared death walked where fate now led.

Yet still he rose and onward pressed, though doom sat heavy in his chest. He crossed strange lands and there did find a golden elf in peril pinned.

Scaly beasts circled fang and claw; Jorne paused at what his young eyes saw. "A devil of the south," thought he, yet honor would not let him flee.

His axe sang loud and monsters fell; its edge became their funeral bell. Then Mer and Nord spoke side by side, though fate decreed their paths divide.

"I am Chimer," said the mer, "Not devil king nor jailer's heir. South and west dwell cruel ones true, whose chains bring endless grief to you."

Thus parted they with wary grace, two souls from different gods and place.

Again came Hawk through heaven's blue, and this time Jorne the omen knew. He followed where her white wings led, And safely through the mountains tread.

Then from Dive Rock's high throne of stone, he heard a hunted woman's moan. A Nede lass fled with desperate cry, while devil riders thundered by.

Then Jorne called out to Kyne above and leapt for honor and for love. The northern wind embraced his fall, and bore him gently over all.

Arrows flew and battle cried, one elf in blood and blindness died. Another came with blade and spell, and there brave Jorne near death befell.

Sword through chest and vision dim, still Sovngarde rejected him. For roaring loud in death's own face, he seized the devil in embrace.

Through eye and fury, blood and pain, the elf collapsed upon the plain. And Jorne sank down with failing breath, Beside the one he'd dragged to death.

Again he stood where dead men tread, where Tsun keeps watch o'er honored dead. The guardian spoke in thunder's sound:

"Your testing hour has not been found."

Then waking came and by his side a healer knelt with tearful eyes. Yreth the Nede had called him back, her magic sealing fate's lost track.

Thus began a greater road, of slave and king and heavy load; Of wolves and foxes, gods and lies, and stars that walked in mortal guise.

Across the wilds the companions rode, Beneath fate's hand and burdened load. Young Yreth looked on Jorne with eyes that held both wonder and surprise.

For who had seen such strength before? Who'd charge at masters into war? Who'd face the South's gold-skinned command for one unknown in stranger land?

Yet Jorne's own heart knew troubled sea, For Yreth bore fair familiarity. She stirred remembrance, old and deep, Of Ihlfri's vow he swore to keep.

One tent they shared through cold and rain, One fire against night's dark domain. Temptation sat beside the flame, yet honor proved the stronger name.

And Yreth saw what warred inside, though no hard judgment did she bide. "Bless Ihlfri," softly did she say, "Who holds your heart so far away."

That night in dream did Jorne pass through silver moths and shining grass. Past Tsun he crossed the whalebone span, where only honored spirits stand.

The Hall of Valor rose on high, its roof like stars against the sky. There Ysgramor raised mighty hand, first king and shield of northern land.

The Tongues stood proud with storm-filled breath, who shouted kingdoms unto death. And kin long gone from mortal years stepped forth beyond the veil of tears.

"Well fought," they cried. "Stand true, stand fast. The harshest roads are not yet passed. Love and honor guide your way; hold to them through night and day."

At dawn they found the fleeing trail, The master marching proud and pale. Ausec chained beneath his eye, Near Ayleid walls that pierced the sky.

Jorne drew bow and loosed his shot, though armor turned the arrow's thought. The devil lord gave furious chase, wrath and scorn upon his face.

Fire fell and lightning sang, Death itself on horseback sprang. Thunder struck the steed beneath, Smoke and ruin, ash and grief.

Yet frost the elf then sought to wield, A winter storm as killing shield. Jorne laughed loud and rose once more:

"I knew worse snow ere I could roar!"

Then axe in hand and arrow tight, He strode into the howling fight.

"What manner of man are you?" The frightened devil scarcely knew.

Jorne answered with a dragon’s cry:

"I am Nord beneath the sky! As my fathers cleaved through snow, your golden blood I shall know!"

Then burst his Battle Cry abroad, like wrath descending from a god. The devil fled in mortal dread, like hunted child in panic led.

Jorne's axe flew swift through fear-filled air, and cast the coward to despair. Mercy begged the trembling foe, yet honor bade one final blow.

Though hope now burned, doubt lingered still, like shadow walking ridge and hill. Within the woods an owl appeared, and spoke with voice both wise and weird.

"Walk as elves walk," the creature pled, "And claim the path your quest has led."

But Jorne recalled old fireside lore, of lies that crept through woodland floor. Then fox sprang out through grass concealed, and falsehood's hidden shape revealed.

The Woodland Man in horror stood, A mockery wearing beast and good. Slimed and twisted, foul to see, Old Herma-Mora bent the knee.

Yet fox and wolf and hawk drew near, and all the testing gods stood clear. Love and wisdom, strength and might, filled Jorne's soul with sacred light.

Then Tsun sent one final test: A mighty bear with iron chest. Claw met axe and tooth met hand, Till Jorne alone remained to stand.

Disguised in blood and devil guise, Jorne entered halls of cruel lies. Past guarded gate and healer's room, He walked through shadow toward his doom.

Yet battle thundered through the halls, Like storm against a fortress wall. Then came a tread both grim and slow, like fate itself through winter snow.

A knight approached in blood-soaked mail, like starlight wrapped in battle's veil. Sword and mace at either side, doom and glory in his stride.

"Join me or stand aside," he said, as though he walked among the dead. Jorne followed where the stranger strode, Toward the shard and destiny's road.

There upon a stair of stone, the sorcerer-king sat on his throne. Spells flew forth in screaming light, yet broke against the Star-Made Knight.

Hammer fell and sword stroke sang, like judgment's bell the chamber rang. When silence came and wrath was done, the devil king lay all undone.

Without a word the knight turned then, and vanished from the sight of men.

Shard in hand and burden eased, Jorne saw the captive peoples freed. Yreth and Ausec yet remained, Alive though battle's storm had rained.

They thanked the man who'd crossed the wild, who’d saved the father and the child. Yet west they chose their fate to seek, for courage now burned in the weak.

Then north rode Jorne through mountain breath, past lands of dream and halls of death. To Riften's gates and Shor's own shrine, he brought the shard of spark divine.

The relic blazed with holy flame, then vanished at great Shor's own claim. All knew then heaven's favor's part: No more Lonely—Jolly-Heart.

So Jorne took Fair-Winter home, no longer doomed apart to roam. Silver moths around them danced, and wolf with blessing both advanced.

Children came and peace held sway, Through many bright and joyful days. Till word from Windhelm crossed the land:

"The High King seeks your guiding hand."

So ends the lay, yet not the song, for heroes' roads are ever long. Raise your cups and fill the hearth— For Jorne's next tale is set to start.

Previously served, about to go back in. OCPs frighten me.

I'm color blind. Badly. So bad I got a zero on the test at MEPS then failed the fallback one too.

When I was first in years ago it was easy. Giant enlisted ranks on the sleeves meant a safe distance to differentiate between officer and enlisted. Now everyone's rank is tiny, located at their abdomen, and for me at least, impossible to make out. I have the same issue even seeing if there's one on the cap, as that was something else easy to look for back in the ABU days.

Now the ranks are tiny, are in the same place, and for my broken eyes blend in with the rest of the camo.

Anyone have a tip or trick? I've not been reamed, just awkward exchanges, though I know my look shall soon run out.