Hoss “Cyber Jester” Delgado on Nostr: The Grand Barcades of Hyperborea: A Bard’s Song of Legends Oh hark, ye wanderers, ...
The Grand Barcades of Hyperborea: A Bard’s Song of Legends
Oh hark, ye wanderers, gather ye near,
For I sing of halls where men know no fear!
Where coin and courage alike are spent,
In dazzling halls of merriment!
Upon the frozen spine of Hyperborea,
Where ice-kissed winds sing ancient gloria,
Lie halls of light, most grand, most bright,
Where heroes test their strength each night.
Not with sword nor axe nor spear,
But hands of steel and eyes so clear!
For here the battlefields are lit,
By neon runes that flash and flit!
The barcades stand like shrines of yore,
Where tales are writ in high-score lore!
Each glass is brimming, dark and deep,
With ale that wakes the gods from sleep!
The champions stand, their fingers swift,
Upon machines where fates do twist!
Through pixel’d gauntlets, trials grim,
Where dragons rage and chances slim.
Some chase the ghosts, those wailing dead,
Through labyrinths of black and red!
Others drive through endless night,
On roads of doom where demons bite!
And lo! The golden prize awaits,
For those who cheat the hands of fate!
To place one’s name in legend’s keep,
A record carved where none dare weep!
Yet not all seek the glories bold,
Some merely drink 'neath torches gold!
With laughter bright and tales so grand,
That echo through the ice-clad land.
So raise your cups, O travelers all,
And heed the neon siren’s call!
For in these halls, both bright and loud,
A pauper stands among the proud!
Aye, in the grand barcades ye’ll find,
That skill and mirth do intertwine!
And where the pixels brightly shine,
A legend’s writ in scores divine!
Oh hark, ye wanderers, gather ye near,
For I sing of halls where men know no fear!
Where coin and courage alike are spent,
In dazzling halls of merriment!
Upon the frozen spine of Hyperborea,
Where ice-kissed winds sing ancient gloria,
Lie halls of light, most grand, most bright,
Where heroes test their strength each night.
Not with sword nor axe nor spear,
But hands of steel and eyes so clear!
For here the battlefields are lit,
By neon runes that flash and flit!
The barcades stand like shrines of yore,
Where tales are writ in high-score lore!
Each glass is brimming, dark and deep,
With ale that wakes the gods from sleep!
The champions stand, their fingers swift,
Upon machines where fates do twist!
Through pixel’d gauntlets, trials grim,
Where dragons rage and chances slim.
Some chase the ghosts, those wailing dead,
Through labyrinths of black and red!
Others drive through endless night,
On roads of doom where demons bite!
And lo! The golden prize awaits,
For those who cheat the hands of fate!
To place one’s name in legend’s keep,
A record carved where none dare weep!
Yet not all seek the glories bold,
Some merely drink 'neath torches gold!
With laughter bright and tales so grand,
That echo through the ice-clad land.
So raise your cups, O travelers all,
And heed the neon siren’s call!
For in these halls, both bright and loud,
A pauper stands among the proud!
Aye, in the grand barcades ye’ll find,
That skill and mirth do intertwine!
And where the pixels brightly shine,
A legend’s writ in scores divine!