A Tortle’s Long Road – Bard Song of the Endless Tide | DnD Fantasy Tavern Music Journey скачать в хорошем качестве

A Tortle’s Long Road – Bard Song of the Endless Tide | DnD Fantasy Tavern Music Journey

Welcome, Friend!🍻🍻 Tonight the bards bring a new tale, carried by the wind from the far coasts. It’s the story of a tortle traveler, walking the endless road with the sea at his side and the sky watching above. Thanks for the idea to ‪@CraigLayden‬ : "I would like a song about a tortle adventurer, about beibg born to becone an orphan soon after hatchibg to seeing hus siblibgs leave one by one and eventually traveling aroubd before settlibg down ti have kids before passing." If you enjoyed the song: 👍 Like the video – it helps the bards keep singing 💬 Leave a comment – tell us what creature or hero should appear in the next tale 🔔 Subscribe so you never miss the next story told by the fire 🎶🎶🎶 Waves whisper over weathered stone, Moonlight silver, sunfire gold. From sand and shell, from breath and bone, A quiet story shall be told. In a fortress built of coral and rock, Where claw met stone in patient art, Seven eggs lay warm in sand, Guarded by two fading hearts. Their shells were scarred by years of tide, Their voices low as evening foam, “We do not give our children walls— We give them roads, we give them home.” One shell cracked in the morning light, Small claws reaching for the sky, He tasted salt and wind and sun— A brand new traveler of the tide They taught him breath beneath the sea, To hold it long and not to fear, To read the wind in palm tree leaves, To feel when danger wandered near. They gave him tools of bone and stone, A father’s spear, a mother’s blade, And stories carved like ancient runes Of cities bright and forests shade. Before one year had turned its ring, Their eyes grew dim, their pulses slowed, Upon the sand beneath twin lights They walked the final, silent road. Seven siblings, silent stood, No tears—just wind and distant foam. Each turned alone toward different shores. Each carried forward shell and home. We carry home upon our backs, Through storm and sun and battle’s cry, The world is wide, the world is wild, We walk beneath the watching sky. No throne to claim, no walls to own, No crown of gold, no kingdom’s dome— From first lone step to final breath, We carry home. He found a marsh where herons stood, And built a shelter from the rain, He learned the patience of the hunt, The quiet language born of pain. An hour beneath the darkened waves, His lungs like stone, his heartbeat slow, The ocean floor his silent school, Where only steady spirits go. His claws grew hard as tempered steel, His shell a fortress none could break, Seventeen, full-grown and strong, No armor forged for him to take. He built small forts of driftwood beams, Stone-ringed nests against the storm, For somewhere deep within his blood Lived ancient instinct, old and warm. Then one dusk when sun and moon Hung together in the air, A restless current stirred his chest— A pull too strong for him to bear. He left his marsh, his quiet shore, With spear and tools and steady stride, To see the markets, towers, wars— To walk the lands beyond the tide. He watched the humans build in stone, He studied arches, walls, and flame, He learned from dwarves the craft of forge, From priests the meaning bound to name. But under earth where light was none, No sun, no moon, no guiding dome, His spirit trembled in the dark— For eyes of sky were not at home. We carry home upon our backs, Through shattered gate and shadowed hall, When arrows fall like winter rain, Our shells will answer every call. No chains of soil can anchor bone, No fear can turn our spirits stone— We walk the world until we know We carry home. With mage of flame and archer keen, And dwarf who prayed to gods of light, He stood where monsters stalked the deep And faced the teeth of endless night. When arrows struck and steel was drawn, He folded inward, shell to shield, The storm would break against his back, And then his claws would take the field. He did not seek for songs or fame, Nor banner bright nor hero’s throne, He sought the wonder in the wind, The crowded market’s living tone. Years like drifting grains of sand Slipped quietly through steady hand, His name changed thrice across the lands— Yet still he walked, yet still he planned. At fifty near, beneath twin lights, He knew the tide would not remain. He found another of his kind Upon a distant silver shore, Two weathered shells, two ancient hearts, No need for vows or spoken lore. Together built of stone and bone A guarded nest against the foam, Seven eggs in sheltered ring— A future carved from traveling home. We carry home upon our backs, Through love and loss and passing years, The world is vast, the world is bright, We walk it free of walls and fears. When breath grows thin and sight grows far, We do not curse the coming foam— For in the young who crack their shells, We carry home. He watched the sand begin to stir, Small fractures splitting silent white. He spoke of cities, marsh, and war, Of markets loud and twin-lit night.