We're the children of the
mist with no land to call home,
descended from kings but destined to roam.
We were honoured in battle then hunted like game,
but the proof of our mettle is we're still proud of our name.
They outlawed our clan and the mode of our dress,
but we never measured allegiance by chance of success.
Some things we're not proud of were circumstance led,
but what prince not a rogue to see his children are fed?
Our friendship was valued by high born and low,
our steadfast belief earned respect from our foe.
No great castles had we and our numbers were few
but our clansmen before us kept our legacy true.
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