A traditional song of the Nomads and Freemen of the Western Badlands

Kharvil Vrayn is the name, and I rode on the Verdant Plain
Til all the war machines came and ruined all the grain
In the year of Widows' Cries, we were hungry, we were barely alive
I took the road to Yexyd that fell
It was a time I remember, oh so well

The night they burnt Free Yexed down
And the cinders were stingin'
The night they burnt Free Yexed down
And the refugees were singing'
They wept "Za, Za, Za..."

Back with my Woman in High Skree and one day she called to me
"Kharvil, quick, come see, there goes Warlord Arzhee"
Now I don't mind, I'm huntin Vrood
And I don't care if the silvers no good
Just take what you need and leave the rest
But they never should have taken the very best

The night they burnt Free Yexed down
And the cinders were stingin'
The night they burnt Free Yexed down
And the refugees were singing'
They wept "Za, Za, Za..."

Like my father before me, I will roam the land
And like my brother above me, who took a Freeman stand
He was eighteen, proud and brave, but the Autarch put him on a stake
I swear by the blood below my feet
You can't raise a Vrayn back up when he's in defeat

The night they burnt Free Yexed down
And the cinders were stingin'
The night they burnt Free Yexed down
And the refugees were singing'
They wept "Za, Za, Za..."