In tunnels with dark shadows
and boulevards lined with trees,
people think the Walkers of Hashan uproot totems with great ease.

The long days of work
fall quickly into night,
like creeping thugs it steals our spiritual might.

The Crown pay is meager,
the gratitude as bleak
as the desolate paths of Mhaldor and their highest peaks.

We sing a song of labor,
a hundred inks upon a wall,
but when the bottles are empty it's Hashan that's going to fall.

Bring us not your absinthe,
nor darkened brew for aid,
we only seek companionship and your help in getting paid.

We could totem Polyargos,
have an isle to ourselves,
but who would keep the balance and into the Spirit delve?

Tithian stalks the Fortress
unable to afford new clothes,
he's rallying behind the Walkers to protest these contract woes!

Khystra supports her cousin.
She's selling us candles at half price.
If not for her kindness, our rituals would lack their light.

Viera sold her circlet.
It's rumoured she got ten thousand gold.
At least we'll have some kindling so the Fortress won't be cold.

Bluef and Kachan raided
their husband's bank accounts.
There wasn't much there though so they sold their favorite mounts.

Calling upon their runelore,
Esha and Bhodie are working too.
If only we had the gold for their personal upkeep too!

Burying blank and unformed things
into Hashan soil is our calling.
Oh, city of the Ithmia, see the price of this isn't falling!

Sketching these words upon your minds,
its our value we're appealing!
Totemers of the Crown will accept no lesser dealing!


Note: Many thanks to all of those who always help us in ridding the
sewers of thugs, bringing us mutton, and thanking us for our hard work.
We appreciate you just as you've shown us that you are grateful for the
Walkers.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Scarlatan, in the year 443 AF.