A Fantasy Hospital Ballad of Healers, Heroes & Dragon Injections скачать в хорошем качестве

A Fantasy Hospital Ballad of Healers, Heroes & Dragon Injections

Welcome, Friends🍻🍻 Tonight our bards sing about a place where even dragons lay down their claws. This ballad leads you through an ancient fantasy hospital beneath the cliffs: where healers work without fear, heroes recover from questionable decisions, goblins regret bad ale, and a young dragons absolutely refuses an injection. 👉 Like the song if it made you smile 👉 Comment which patient you’d be in this hospital 👉 Subscribe to join our growing circle of fantasy listeners, more tales are always coming Thanks for the ideas to ‪@Wolfeye125‬ and ‪@piyaroq8189‬ 🎧 Listen Bards of Ethernia on YouTube Music:    / bards of ethernia - topic   🎵 Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/0Gwxl... 🍎 Apple Music:   / bards-of-ethernia   Enjoy the bard songs of Ethernia wherever you listen — from taverns to distant kingdoms and other realms beyond! 🎶🎶🎶 Beyond the town, where stone meets sky, Where cliffs eclipse the fading light, A massive hall of age and scar With crooked wings and towers far. Its windows watch the years go by, Its walls have heard a thousand cries. When shadows darken wings above, No horns are blown, no guards run off. A dragon lands on weary wing, With frozen breath and ash-stained skin. The gates stay wide, the streets stand still, Two white-robed healers meet his will. No blade is drawn, no spell is cast, Old vows are sworn from ages past: Lay down your arms, lay bare your pain— All who enter here are plain. For wounds no potion dares to mend, For scars where simple charms must end, There stands a hall where all must yield, Let go of sword and claw and shield. By ancient vow and binding truth, None are refused beneath this roof: Fairy, monster, man, or wyrm— All are healed, all take their turn. The dragon parts his taloned hand, A hatchling steps on trembling stand. He coughs out flame, too weak, too small— A dragon’s cold, the rarest fall. The hall is cleared, the healers brace, A giant’s needle takes its place. The walls will shake, the stones will cry Before the cure goes finally by. Within the yard, a smaller wing, From which the bravest fear to sing. A modest sign, no charm, no jest: DENTIST carved into the crest. A vampire leaves with darkened glare, One fang less sharp, one lighter air. A mimic slides across the floor, Then opens wide—exam once more. For wounds no potion dares to mend, For scars where simple charms must end, There stands a hall where all must yield, Let go of sword and claw and shield. By ancient vow and binding truth, None are refused beneath this roof: Fairy, monster, man, or wyrm— All are healed, all take their turn. No one blinks at goblin swarms, They laugh too loud, they mean no harm. They’d steal most places, tried and true— But not this ground they never do. Exploding soup and spoiled ale, Half a cavern turned to pale, Yet still the rule stands firm and lone: No soul is left to bleed alone. The burn ward fills with heroes sore, Back from plans they should’ve thought through more. The wizard shrugs, avoids the blame, Says, “It worked fine—just mind the flame.” His friends just stare, no words to say, That look that means: don’t cast today. The healer sighs, already wise— Another fireball surprise. Beneath it all, where candles fade, No spells are cast, no prayers are made. Just office clerks with weary stare, And stacks of forms from here to there. They count the cost of claw and flame, Each shattered shield, each broken frame, And send it on, both high and true, To the Insurance Bureau due— For even mercy, kind and old, To keep these ancient halls needs gold. At orthopedics, lines run long, The druids wait, both bent and strong. Each shifting form their bones recall, Each borrowed shape exacts its toll. Change leaves marks no spell can hide, Even nature bows and sighs. For wounds no potion dares to mend, For scars where simple charms must end, There stands a hall where all must yield, Let go of sword and claw and shield. No one asks whose side you’re on, What you burned or whom you wronged: Fairy, monster, man, or wyrm— All are healed, all take their turn. No one knows who laid first stone, What hands bound spells to flesh and bone. Yet through all wars and crowns that fall, It stands untouched, outlasting all. So sing this truth, both soft and clear: In a world of blood and fear, One door remains forever free— The Hospital Beneath the Cliff. #FantasyMusic #BardSongs #MedievalMusic #CelticFolk #DnDMusic #FantasyTavern #Bardcore #RPGMusic