Hark! ... I shall sing you a tale
Of a jarl, brave and true, a warrior bold
Friend to his people, and to his foes wrath unrolled.
Like a sturdy ship, his courage never leaked.
Might was Jarl Torgeir of Clan Tuirseach.
For a man so grand, the Isles held plunder too few
So up Alba's shining waters he sailed with his crew.
Arriving at the City of Golden Towers' walls
He razed, ravaged and roared and shook the emperor's halls.
But Nilfgaard knows to suture strife with coin
And so out cutthroats crept, the jarl in battle to join
Lured by the fattened Nilfgaardian purse
To Skellige sailed bandits, villains and worse.
Girded for battle, the jarl stood in his fort
Yet Nilfs know no more honor than demon or chort.
A catapult they brought 'gainst the jarl's mighty keep.
The walls crumbled, buying his warriors deep.
An ocean of rubble swallowed men a great many,
Here we name but few of that noble company:
The pilgrim Tore, Stig of Dovre born, Slumbering Sigvard
And the witcher Gerd, to the last the jarl's faithful guard.
[rest of ballad illegible]