The Mask of Ollock

I

A tale is told of days long gone,

Of foul deeds unfolding 'fore horrified eyes,

Of innocent citizens of a once noble nation

That before their faces came plain to see

Treachery, kinslaying, and wanton war

Bringing a royal line to extinction,

Unraveling ultimately this kingdom of legend,

Preserved now only in ancient texts.

For, upon a time, was a kingdom called Umbra

Ruled by a kingly wizard wise

Practiced in the arts of wizardry and magic,

And versed as well in the justice of governance.

He ordered a realm remembered in lore

Of wealth and power, and equity for all

In a green rich land with kindly seasons

Where peace pushed fear of war afar.

Yet Olgo the king harbored one fatal flaw:

The love he bore for his only son.

It blinded him often to the lights of reason,

Inspiring kindness untempered by discipline.

But perhaps it was really the vice of pride,

Rather than the reasoning virtues of love

That henceforth prompted him foolishly to follow

A perilous path fulfilling all fates.

Now near to the time of his son's attainment

Of the manhood that is the coming of age,

Olgo had felt a heaviness upon him:

A weakness that hearkens the coming of age,

Pressing him earthward to a timely grave.

For his life in bliss passed lightly by,

Till the passing of his wife and beloved queen

Made real in his mind his mortal estate.

So knowing soon his time would come

To lay aside his rod of rulership,

His ruminations came gravely to rest

Upon thoughts of passing in perpetuity

The right to rule along to his heirs,

Bearing in honor the crest of his house-

Or better still to his son alone,

Forever young upon his throne!

So it came to his mind to make a mask,

Pure and golden of Ollock's face,

Woven in magics beyond imagining

That when set upon the face of its host

Would forever bestow him power unbounded

To preside over all his eyes surveyed:

Perpetually young and strong of limb,

He would rule forever free from death.

As preparations followed for his son's celebration,

Olgo retired from public sight,

To the privacy of his Chambers of Sorcery

To work at weaving his wondrous spells.

So he set himself first to the arts of sculpture,

And the intricate craft of forging gold

To shape a likeness of his son beloved

In the beauty of gold, a wonder to behold.

As he worked the metal with tool and skill,

He muttered interwoven with the work of craft

The forces and power of sublime enchantments

Gleaned in research from rarest tomes

Storing formulae of arcane spells:

Ancient in power, dweomers divine,

They coursed through his being sapping his strength,

And taxing his skill and will to proceed.

In the end, his enterprise engendered success,

Yielding a mask of gleaming gold,

Designed to encompass the entire head.

Its face bore the likeness of his son beloved,

And eyes set like stars with gleaming diamonds,

Harboring powers surpassing its author's.

And so doing unwisely, he unwittingly wove

His hapless destiny, and own realm's woes.