Beneath the boundless steppe’s embrace, where whispers weave and wander,
A warrior’s will, wise and warm, shines brighter than gold’s grandeur.
Budang Altajin, a beacon bold, whose spirit takes its flight,
Not for clashing, crushing blows, but for kindling others’ might.
When his own blade rested, silent, his spirit stayed unbroken,
Guiding, guarding, growing strength, with steady words unspoken.
Through winter’s wail and summer’s song, the circle’s spark was sown,
A flame that flickered, fed by faith, where fellowship had grown.
Today we toast not just the sword, swift, sharp, and sure in hand,
But the heart that holds and helps the weary make their stand.
Budang, may your deeds echo on the steppe’s wide sea,
A legacy of strength and care, in eternity’s harmony.
Done by the King of Demons as he delights with the Queen of Bengals, as they both bestow at the Tournament of Daffodils, the honor of induction into the Wheels. Done this day during AS 56.
Meddlings of the Minnesinger 