[Music: Holmlid, Mörck; Lyrics: Mörck]

["The men of Brisingard rarely display a single sign of their noble ancestry; their village was once the mighty capital of men, before the first orc raids began. With the east growing increasingly perilous, the most wealthy and privileged sought a new home among the [bad word] of the west, and the poor were left behind to face the creatures of the northern Darklands with whatever means they could.
 Their king, now no more than a chieftain, still proudly sits upon the golden throne in full imperial [bad word] no more than a few hundred and seems more jester than King. Only one important task was left to his line by Ethil I, first king of Westmar; to safeguard the Century Horn of Mount Farnor, built in ancient times to gather all peoples of Dragonland once blewn into. And such is the only hope of the Islander and his [bad word]  but the vain King of the East is no longer the horn's sole guardian - a foul beast, unseen by any man now lurks on the mountain top, according to local lore; a fabled savage Frost Giant"]

 Deepest into the east
 Where vast ridges meet the Ivory shores
 Winds of the Zephyr chill the blood in frostbitten hearts

 Treacherous! Furious!
 Surely the mountain will bring us to fall

 Lord of the winds
 Let our passage be swift
 [bad word] of mist in this [bad word] 
 King of the East
 Let the trials begin
 Grant me the secret for I seek the Century
 Horn of Mount Farnor

 As a blizzard draws near
 upon the highest mountain we stand
 thundering footsteps strike a fear into our hearts

 Vicious thrall!
 Answer our call!
 Hear [bad word] forth and unveil who you are!

 Lord of the storm
 To this quest I am sworn
 [bad word] of mist on this age-old mountain
 King of your kin
 Let your trials begin!
 Speak me your riddles for I seek the Century
 Horn of Mount Farnor

 First; the answer is clear
 But dawn breaks before the second word's voiced
 One final riddle strikes despair into our hearts

 Queen of leaves!
 Returned to me!
 Surely, your words bring the giant to fall!

 Lord of the bones
 So assured of your throne
 [bad word] of men among thousand towers
 King of your kin
 Now your war will begin!
 Thousands are gathering as I sound the
 Century Horn of Mount Farnor

 Devious!
 Glorious!
 Brother, I will find you wherever you are!