[tface=salt]Abigail's Songbook[/tface]
The following is a collection of songs written by the extraordinarily talented and breathtakingly lovely Abigail Nightal. Read them and enjoy, but to fully appreciate the cunning and skill of these works one must hear the minstrel herself perform.
She can often be found singing her little heart out at the Mist's End Tavern, both these compositions within this book, and those she has learned during her vast travels. Truly an experience one cannot miss.
Brave souls, old and young, Off into the woods to conquer.
Yet what they found, horror untold, “Please gods kill me!â€
A dozen faces, maybe more, a dozen voices cry out.
“Stab me, maim me, burn me, slay me. Who will kill me?â€
Without hope, without rest, without sense beyond,
Pain felt with ev’ry breath, ev’ry thought an agony.
It walks the lands now, friends’ faces twist as they scream.
“Stab me, maim me, burn me, slay me. Who will kill me?â€
But those that hear they turn and run, terror freezes blood.
Each bold voice quavers in its face, brave swords turn and flee.
And still on it hunts as a Maiden’s joke, her laughter in its ears.
“Stab me, maim me, burn me, slay me. Who will kill me?â€
Pull up a chair and listen close to a tale of wonder and woe,
I speak this day of a brave man whom the ladies surely know.
His blue and gold do sparkle bright under the blazing sun,
His teeth as well shine whitely, a thousand hearts are won!
Now our hero’s duty is never done, his virtue knows no bounds.
Those who witness his slashing blade feel safe and wholly sound.
He stands in the face of snarly foe, foul brigand and even worse!
To save us all from the direst fate, and fill the privy purse.
But where this legend truly shines, his tale most oft’ told,
Is in the chambers of many a maid, both young and very old.
It takes him merely an instant, a slight pause in his patrols,
To cut them down one by one and leave ‘fore tea is cold.
“Gregor!” they call, “Gregor!” they cry, “Stay a small bit more!
Surely you can find more time, at least past minute four!”
But the brave man merely shakes his head, a twinkle in his eye,
And departs with nary a word, poor maid left high and dry.
Ohhh! …our hero comes from lands afar,
And sailed to Ymph in time of war!
So listen to this tale of trouble,
Of a man as cunning as cudgel.
So very sly while you are not.
With powdered tush and eyes so pretty!
Come to grace our besieged city.
A plan he hatched, a plot so thick,
Seemed no one could bridle this…man.
But in truth he’s a humble soul,
Wants nothing more than to take control.
Standing not-so-tall against the Baron,
Like a not-so-enthralling rapscallion.
His lilting voice so clear and grating,
Quite like a pair pigeons mating.
So very sly while you are not.
With powdered tush and eyes so pretty!
Come to grace our besieged city.
But fortune’s cruel to men of vision,
As our hero found naught but derision.
Til’ fateful day he crossed a knight,
And ran and cowered from the fight.
But sadly he was apprehended,
And forced to fight whom he’d offended.
Begging, pleading for his life,
Our hero died as the brave knight’s wife.
So very sly while you are not.
With powdered tush and eyes so pretty!
Come to grace our besieged city.
Commissioned by Baron Khavenko
May the stars go dark when you’re away,
My heart grows empty and dark.
For without you, my dear, light flees the day,
Laments are sung by the lark.
Irska, I see you stroll gently by,
Sorrow trails in your wake.
For this is not home, how can I provide,
And make your passions awake?
Perhaps, I think, you shall see me here,
And know my lament is true.
Silence between us, but you’re so near.
All I wish is to cherish you.
Irska, I see you stroll gently by,
Sorrow trails in your wake.
For this is not home, how can I provide,
And make your passions awake?
My love she took a ship to rolling sea,
Bound off the coast of Waterdeep.
But fool was she, mocking the deeps,
A constant nag, I shall not weep.
“Why should I give prayer, my faith is strong!
I bow only to the rising dawn.â€
These words she spoke ‘fore she set sail,
She rests in the belly of a vengeful whale.
Oh Queen of the Deeps, Oh Bitch of the Seas,
We offer our prayers, we aim to please.
You took my love, for this I’m happy,
A stupid girl, now cold and clammy.
I heard a tale once of a captain,
Who shook his fist, railed with great passion.
Thought his skill could defeat the Bitch,
In crushing depths his corpse does twitch.
Even if the sun above be glowing,
And fair winds strong astern be blowing.
A spurned Queen she ne’er forgets,
‘Fore overlong she’ll call in your debts.
Oh Queen of the Deeps, Oh Bitch of the Seas,
We offer our prayers, we aim to please.
You took my love, for this I’m happy,
A stupid girl, now cold and clammy.
Just as one does not taunt the lightning,
Or Lord of Storms shall preach most frightening.
The churning seas rise to show your folly,
And you’ll join my dearest, nagging Molly.
Oh Queen of the Deeps, Oh Bitch of the Seas,
We offer our prayers, we aim to please.
You took my love, for this I’m happy,
A stupid girl, now cold and clammy.
Through tunnels deep, past dangers dire,
A small band ventures, brave souls inspired.
In depths things lurk, watching what nears,
Feeding on even the bravest’s fears.
But on this day our travelers know,
For with them walks with gleaming bow.
An elf of skill, an elf of heart,
Eyes so keen, and boots so smart!
Oh! Have no fear, lads! The Hunter’s near, lads!
They wouldn’t dare, lads! He’s got much flair, lads!
A’lteric’s a dead shot,
Firing for the tender spot!
But on this fateful day did they meet,
An orc of legend, striding on cat’s feet.
The Whisper stepped from depths so deep,
Wishing to bring eternal sleep.
So battle rang throughout these caves,
Blood and shouts, both in great waves.
A fight so pitched, so very violent,
No more the deeps resound so silent.
Oh! Have no fear, lads! The Hunter’s near, lads!
They wouldn’t dare, lads! He’s got much flair, lads!
A’lteric’s a dead shot,
Firing for the tender spot!
Yet with much fighting, much blood shed,
They floored the Whisper, they smacked his head.
But swift as a deer, agile as a cat,
He hopped up again, fled off like a bat.
But not satisfied, indeed not quite happy,
The Hunter fired off one final volley,
His shaft sped off, a shot most blind,
Aiming for the Whisper’s behind!
Oh! Have no fear, lads! The Hunter’s near, lads!
They wouldn’t dare, lads! He’s got much flair, lads!
A’lteric’s a dead shot,
Firing for the tender spot!
To this very day the orcs of the mountains,
Cunningly craft devices in the thousands.
So one day should the Hunter again near,
They’ve plates to guard their precious rears!
Oh! Have no fear, lads! The Hunter’s near, lads!
They wouldn’t dare, lads! He’s got much flair, lads!
A’lteric’s a dead shot,
Firing for the tender spot!
So begins a tale of a man, a man most dashing and clever,
He plotted and schemed to get oh so rich in a single daring endeavor.
A nobleman held jewels and gems very dear to his heart,
The clever man sought to slip very near, to steal these works of art.
But as is fate, the clever’st of men aren’t always so very wise,
When it comes to it greed often wins when reaching for shiny prize.
A priest caught wind amongst the shadows, hearing of the clever plot,
He came to the clever man with words of insurance easily bought.
For the skulk for the thief to keep it sly,
From the ears of the watch, or surely die.
A few pennies, a shiny gem will do quite well,
To dark coffers where shadows dwell.
But the clever man just turned and smiled, “I’ve no need, now go away.”
“The shadows don’t talk, my secrets are safe, I’ll be so very rich later this day.”
The priest shrugged, unperturbed, “I’ve heard this before from better men.”
“They lay dead, their secrets broken, the voiceless speak now and again.”
“But have your way, you’ll soon learn fast.” With that he simply left.
Now the clever man gave not a second thought, his mind set on the theft.
Waiting for dark, sliding through streets ‘til he stood ‘fore the mansion,
High stone walls the only challenge ‘tween him and fated fortune.
For the skulk for the thief to keep it sly,
From the ears of the watch, or surely die.
A few pennies, a shiny gem will do quite well,
To dark coffers where shadows dwell.
Eagerly he climbed the wall, hand over hand riches await,
Onto the quiet roof he slipped, but what he saw made heart deflate.
For waiting there was the nobleman, ‘side him a familiar face,
Priest whisp’ring in nobleman’s ear just ‘fore he fell into space.
For the skulk for the thief to keep it sly,
From the ears of the watch, or surely die.
A few pennies, a shiny gem will do quite well,
To dark coffers where shadows dwell.
We cannot in good faith welcome you, rattle rattle, clank clank.
When Bone Man brings naught but our doom, rattle rattle, clank clank.
Listen close these words, it won’t take long, rattle rattle, clank clank.
Harken to the young maid’s rolling song. rattle rattle, clank clank.
Bone Man, Bone Man, don’t you cry,
For the bone you’re missing ‘tween the thighs.
‘Tis a shame for we maids would roll over,
But for now our nights ‘ll be much colder.
From deep below we hear you march, rattle rattle, clank clank.
Through dark and muck and fallen arch, rattle rattle, clank clank.
You come, they say, with sword and spell, rattle rattle, clank clank,
Kill us all and make darkness swell, rattle rattle clank clank.
Bone Man, Bone Man, don’t you cry,
For the bone you’re missing ‘tween the thighs.
‘Tis a shame for we maids would roll over,
But for now our nights ‘ll be much colder.
So go back to whence you came before, rattle rattle, clank clank,
Take your swords and spells and nasty war, rattle rattle, clank clank.
Learn a thing or two ‘bout what’s required, rattle rattle, clank clank.
Have your mages work on what’s desired, rattle rattle, clank clank.
Bone Man, Bone Man, don’t you cry,
For the bone you’re missing ‘tween the thighs.
‘Tis a shame for we maids would roll over,
But for now our nights ‘ll be much colder.
Ha ha ha, blood will flow,
The puppet dancing to and fro.
On ‘er hooks, hoist her high!
Burning bleeding, release ‘em from their misery,
Singing slaying, all for liberty.
Ha ha ha, sweetest meats,
Gnawing on their tiny feet.
Burning bleeding, release ‘em from their misery,
Singing slaying, all for liberty.
Ha ha ha, a gentle priest,
Lord of the maddened feast.
Burning bleeding, release ‘em from their misery,
Singing slaying, all for liberty.
Ha ha ha, hold your nose,
Turning from the nasty rose.
E’eryone dies to sneeze.
Under bough within a Misty wood,
A brigand stalked, the villain meant no good.
But he found his end where Blackgem stood,
Cut in half like only dwarf axe could!
With a cut and a hew, and a crush and smash,
And an arm around a dwarven lass.
With a beard so thick make an old dwarf cry,
“Oh Blackgem!” the lasses sigh.
Inside a rocky cavern deep,
An orc stood guard over dank dung heap.
Can’t keep a dwarf from relief so cheap,
And so nasty orc got put to sleep!
With a cut and a hew, and a crush and smash,
And an arm around a dwarven lass.
With a beard so thick make an old dwarf cry,
“Oh Blackgem!” the lasses sigh.
In the wet Morass there dwelt a troll,
Who wore a man’s skin like a stole.
But when poor troll tried to collect his toll,
Dwarf ‘d only pay with smoldering coal!
With a cut and a hew, and a crush and smash,
And an arm around a dwarven lass.
With a beard so thick make an old dwarf cry,
“Oh Blackgem!” the lasses sigh.
A great giant in the mountains high,
Bellowed, shouted, a dwarf he’d not abide.
But the dwarven axe was way too spry,
Left the giant only one good thigh!
With a cut and a hew, and a crush and smash,
And an arm around a dwarven lass.
With a beard so thick make an old dwarf cry,
“Oh Blackgem!” the lasses sigh.
Drinking ale inside a tavern dark,
Dwarven maiden singing like a lark
Now in a room while naked stark,
Blackgem he ne’er misses the mark!
With a cut and a hew, and a crush and smash,
And an arm around a dwarven lass.
With a beard so thick make an old dwarf cry,
“Oh Blackgem!” the lasses sigh.
When goblins grow bored, and the ale runs low,
They look around, got no place to go.
The bread is stale, sunrise comes soon,
What shall their lil’ wives bake come noon?
And so there’s goblins in the granary.
Its so much fun for you and me,
To watch them dance so merrily,
And spin about the granary!
A call goes out, carried far and wide,
Brave souls arrive from every side.
Sharp steel in hand, and iron of eye,
Soon they send dancing goblins to die.
And so there’s goblins in the granary.
Its so much fun for you and me,
To watch them dance so merrily,
And spin about the granary!
As night falls dark, in the End men go,
With swords all clean, and polished bow.
Drink and laugh, goblin spoils in hand,
While goblins have naught to eat but sand.
And still there’s goblins in the granary.
Its so much fun for you and me,
To watch them dance in victory,
And spin about the granary!
There is a tale of sorrow found,
Sung here in Mistlocke, all around.
A maiden bid her husband love,
Farewell to fight foes undreamed of.
Men returned but none could say,
What came of maiden’s love that day.
She cried, she mourned, life it goes on,
Clothed in black, now a darkened swan.
Mourning dark death, a loss so dear,
She stands high up above the Tear
As she flung herself in the air,
Her tears they filled the River Tear.
Yet fate takes hold, false hope it grows,
Young man spied swan in darkened clothes.
Wooing, pleading, her heart he won,
Her love grew, she could no more shun.
But one sad day stood at her door,
Brave husband back, shouting a roar.
“My swan I hear another buck,
You’ve let into my bed to fuck!â€
Mourning dark death, a loss so dear,
She stands high up above the Tear
As she flung herself in the air,
Her tears they filled the River Tear.
Steel sang out as the two men fought,
The maiden watched quite overwrought.
Her husband, strong from fighting long,
Slew the young man, ended his song.
He cut his head, tossed to the Mists.
Then turned to maiden with clenched fists,
Casting her out, while hate consumed.
Upon the bridge, leaped to her doom.
Mourning dark death, a loss so dear,
She stands high up above the Tear
As she flung herself in the air,
Her tears they filled the River Tear.
The Bog Wyrm
Harken to this song, a harrowing tale,
Please for your sake don’t forget to exhale.
‘Tis ‘bout the hunt of the nasty Bog Wyrm,
The truth of this tale I can safely confirm.
This minstrel met it once near the Morass,
It leapt out and struck her right in the ass.
Poison mixed with blood from the wound so deep,
And felled the minstrel, left her in a heap.
Through luck she lived, the Bog Wyrm it was chased.
Up into the air, to the Morass it raced.
So the men of Aberdenn bravely swore,
They’d slay this Wyrm, a threat it’d be no more.
Tell the Bog Wyrm it should scramble and hide,
For the Aberdenn men search far and wide.
It cannot hope to escape our deafening roar,
We’ve come for your blood to even the score.
Scent of death in the air, victims pile high,
The Clan hunts the Morass, eyes to the sky.
In the dank and wet the danger abounds,
Aberdenn hunts on Wyrm’s hunting grounds.
For days and weeks and months do they hunt on,
Facing perils most deadly, dusk ‘til dawn.
Mouths that gibber and strong vines that ensnare,
All will kill the strongest, so best beware.
But the foul Bog Wyrm was the worst of these,
Many a brave young soul was known to freeze,
When confronted by its most wicked glare,
To survive such a day would be most rare.
Tell the Bog Wyrm it should scramble and hide,
For the Aberdenn men search far and wide.
It cannot hope to escape our deafening roar,
We’ve come for your blood to even the score.
But for even a Bog Wyrm luck runs out,
When faced with Clan Aberdenn, with hearts stout.
Through its lizard thralls they cut, blood it seeped.
Hissing screams rang out as Aberdenn reaped.
‘Til all laid slain, the Morass it ran red,
Quiet was the only sound, silence of dread.
For the Bog Wyrm had not yet shown to fight,
Despite its servants’ deaths, did it take flight?
But no, loud crashing now the Clansmen heard,
It was the great Wyrm’s anger they had stirred.
With a last crash, the trees before them fell,
Out jumped the Wyrm as if spawned from the Hells.
Tell the Bog Wyrm it should scramble and hide,
For the Aberdenn men search far and wide.
It cannot hope to escape our deafening roar,
We’ve come for your blood to even the score.
Falling on the men, its deadly tail thrashed,
And in their faces its daunting teeth gnashed.
But the brave Clansmen stood to the assault,
Bringing the Wyrm’s terrible charge to halt.
Bright spears and blades sliced at its long, scaled throat,
Twas not long ‘fore its final verse was wrote.
At long last this nasty Wyrm’s blood was spilled,
The Aberdenn Clansmen had seen it killed.
Now the Wyrm’s head is a trophy hung up high,
This tale is Aberdenn’s triumphant cry.
No more this evil Wyrm will prowl and kill,
All due to a few brave men of iron will.
Tell the Bog Wyrm it should scramble and hide,
For the Aberdenn men search far and wide.
It cannot hope to escape our deafening roar,
We’ve come for your blood to even the score.
The Mist hangs low over sodden ground,
And so fear grows, take a look around.
You can cast a vote for paladin Jim,
Or make your mark at Coinlord’s whim.
They’ll rage and shout as times done before,
They’ll spend and buy and still ask for more
But would that keep H’bala well at bay?
Will that push back your dying day?
There’s no need to cower.
When my tits are in the Tower!
I warred against H’bala’s armies foul,
With shield on arm, I heard Risers growl.
And so I realized that hope had fled,
The Old Colony’s stone ran with red.
We live our lives in labor and toil,
Doom surrounds, even the brave recoil.
But we still control how we end this tale,
Let’s sing and dance and have another ale!
There’s no need to cower.
When my tits are in the Tower!
(The following ballad must be performed by a minstrel wearing a fabulous (and tiny) little pink and lime green outfit.)
We wander peaks, covered in ice and snow,
Hand in claw, high through the passes we go.
A love like this most never live to know,
I cherish every moment with my beau.
On his wings we fly into frozen air,
Tiny men below scramble, quite a scare.
The brave who turn to fight him best beware,
Flesh on the menu of this love affair.
His cold, wicked breath chills me to the bone,
Scales of purest white match his icy throne.
I hate the days away hunting he’s flown,
Leaving my cold, blistered heart all alone.
I’ll wait for him, strike an alluring pose,
Hear his return before the coming snows.
He catches a glimpse and desire grows,
And on he’ll ride until his blizzard blows.
So an apology’s asked for,
Well then you’ll get that and much more.
For my art at song I shall say,
I’m quite sorry, but if I may,
I cannot help that I’ve talent,
Which in other bards is quite absent.
Perhaps from now I’ll sing off key,
Just wail and cry like a banshee.
But even then I’m quite afraid,
That it would be a pale charade.
Skill like mine one just cannot hide,
And all would still see if I tried.
That though I’d try to sing poorly,
Other bards would be moody.
For my song would dwarf all others,
Despite granting you your druthers.
Legs and breasts so many adore.
And a rump for which men have died.
I see no reason I should hide.
I’m sorry if I cause to pale,
And make my bardic friends seem stale.
Am I to deny Sune’s gifts?
I daresay she would be damned miffed!
So please, my friends, I say again,
I’m sorry for my ruthless reign.
From now I’ll smile and grant my grace,
And laugh at your vain, hopeless chase.
I had thought once that I loved you,
As we stood beneath bold skies blue.
Your whispers were sweet to my ear,
You gently held my frail heart dear.
Our end came swiftly and dire,
As life tossed upon the pyre.
And now all the world glows orange,
A ring of gold lost in our plunge.
Was I a blind fool to listen,
Holding pretty roses crimson.
But did not the roses still sting?
And did not the robins take wing?
Our end came swiftly and dire,
As life tossed upon the pyre.
And now all the world glows orange,
A ring of gold lost in our plunge.
I saw you tangled in her legs,
To my knees I drop, my heart begs.
You betray our love, all is red,
Now cold runs my blood, love has fled.
Our end came swiftly and dire,
As life tossed upon the pyre.
And now all the world glows orange,
A ring of gold lost in our plunge.
When I was a silly girl, of elves I did dream,
Their grace, beauty and wit would cause my loins to steam.
But little of them did I see ‘til far astream,
One fateful day in deep woods, through boughs he did gleam.
My noble elf approached, a creature of such grace,
He smiled warm at me, and set my heart to race.
Without a word he neared, gentle hand to my face,
With long arms he drew me into his fey embrace.
Passion made my legs weak, but my elf held me tight,
My breath left me then as I dreamt of coming night.
From shoulders my blouse slipped, and my head it felt light,
My hands slid to his waist, and trembled with delight.
Trousers unbuttoned slow to spy his mighty tree,
But when I peered inside, the axe had beaten me.
Within there were but plains, no foliage did I see,
For to my great despair, my he-elf was a she!
A Maiden threatened to corrupt all,
Her tendrils reaching Colony walls.
Foul Nightrisers slew both young and old,
No hope was left, bold hearts ran cold.
All that seemed left was to flee afar,
To set sail swift, led by shelt’ring stars.
So a fleet of rag tag ships set out,
Led by Captain Roose, with brave heart stout.
Away, away, to the sea they fled,
Away, away, from dark shores of red.
Crying screaming for a place aboard,
Each ship o’er-filled by the frightened horde.
Voices of children filled the salt air,
New hope for life lit young faces fair.
Danger they faced, a naval blockade,
Old Port would sink any ship that strayed.
Through night they slipped led by Captain Roose,
In the dark they’d sneak past false Count’s noose.
Away, away, to the sea they fled,
Away, away, from dark shores of red.
The ragged ships, simple fishers’ most,
Sail slow, sunlight slipped above the coast.
Dark shapes converged, flame filled the sky,
Decks and sails lit bright, hope burned and died.
Small voices that filled the air with life,
Silenced now upon a sea of strife.
Perched on stolen throne in dark Old Port,
The mirthless smiled in a puppet court.
Away, away, to the sea they fled,
Away, away, to depths of the dead.
Listen, can you hear the voice on the wind,
The words, the whispers, of she who has sinned.
Love turning jealous, entwined hearts that choke,
Mist trails from shoulders, follows like a cloak.
It was only a gift, or was it more?
He found it hidden, bottom of top drawer.
Gold glittering deep amongst the silk fine,
Gold from another has an evil shine.
Two they did wander beneath boughs that grasp,
One did return clutching a golden clasp.
Twas all that was seen of her from that day,
Ne’er did he speak of her going away.
Only the Mist to witness a love’s end,
The roots cannot sing of who they attend.
Fine gold held in hand cannot tell a tale,
Of hearts that darken when the jealous fail.
Still to this day he wears the golden clasp,
It seems just a trinket, none know to ask.
Of gold turning red under swirling oak,
Mist trails from shoulders, follows like a cloak
Listen, can you hear the voice on the wind,
The words, the whispers, of she who has sinned.
Love turning jealous, entwined hearts that choke,
Mist trails from shoulders, follows like a cloak.
It was only a gift, or was it more?
He found it hidden, bottom of top drawer.
Gold glittering deep amongst the silk fine,
Gold from another has an evil shine.
Two they did wander beneath boughs that grasp,
One did return clutching a golden clasp.
Twas all that was seen of her from that day,
Ne’er did he speak of her going away.
Only the Mist to witness a love’s end,
The roots cannot sing of who they attend.
Fine gold held in hand cannot tell a tale,
Of hearts that darken when the jealous fail.
Still to this day he wears the golden clasp,
It seems just a trinket, none know to ask.
Of gold turning red under swirling oak,
Mist trails from shoulders, follows like a cloak
A Brave Knight’s Attire
There was a brave knight from days of yore,
Famed for a quite unique thing he wore.
Twas not steel shining so very bright,
Twas not a sharp sword fit for a knight.
A cloak of white silk, trimmed in fine fur,
Were not his, twas wool he did prefer.
His spurs, beautiful spurs! Shining gold!
In fact our hero’s were worn and old.
Though he wore a plume so very red,
So did many others, so it’s said.
And he might have had whiskers so thick,
But so did Gregory, Mark and Dick.
Perhaps a helmet, enameled rich,
Shining bright, oh the eyes they’d bewitch.
But I’m afraid this just isn’t true,
His helm more a bucket for beef stew.
A lock of hair from a lady fair!
I’m afraid not, for to this I swear.
Twas no pretty maid to darken his door,
Twas only stable boys, numbered four.
So what, you ask, could this famed thing be?
What in the Realms could be so unique.
I’ll tell you then before we all leave,
This brave knight wore his heart on his sleeve.
Hello from up here you little gnats,
Nothing more to us than wee white rats.
Should you see me smile twas only chance,
Pull on your pink robes and dance, dance, dance.
So I hear your poor wife is quite ill,
I’ve a potion that I can distill.
But you’ll need to pay far in advance,
Pull on your pink robes and dance, dance, dance.
I ask you, sirrah, how goes your day?
Come join me, please, we’ll have times quite gay.
It shows in your eyes you want to prance,
Pull on your pink robes and dance, dance, dance.
I’ve a gift for you, set on your head,
It’ll squeeze your brain, leave you quite dead.
Don’t mind that, your cock it will enhance,
Pull on your pink robes and dance, dance, dance.
Dark runes we write while vile words we shout.
Waving wiggly wands and books devout.
With the Misty past we do romance,
Pull on your pink robes and dance, dance, dance.
Baron Abdul Dabulldull Ameer
When burrows are dark and gnomes bed down,
And quiet falls o’er fair little towns.
Stories are told, but one more than most,
‘Bout a Baron, a hero, they boast.
Baron Abdul Dabulldull Ameer,
With a nose no others could come near.
A lance which foes of gnome-dom did fear,
Five kobolds a’time he’d neatly spear.
With a mustache so fine, thick and long,
If thought a badger you’d not be wrong.
For just like our fair, fine, furry friend,
Snarling from lip where it would suspend.
Baron Abdul Dabulldull Ameer,
With a nose no others could come near.
Unless, by choice, the Baron should veer,
And honker should hook gnome maid’s brassier.
All who might fill his people with dread,
Would find the gaze of fierce eyes red.
But those who would sing a jaunty tune,
Would espy his jig, and the gals swoon.
Baron Abdul Dabulldull Ameer,
With a nose no others could come near.
Nine months after Abdul would appear,
Wee gnomes arrive with snouts quite like spears.
A Message to Boris
Well hello there, Boris dear,
You truly need not so fear,
And try to scare brave Mistlocke,
With boasts ‘bout your tiny cock.
You see we’re quite wise to you,
Your strength is a grifter’s brew.
For no more come from Old Port,
You’re alone on Ymph, old sport.
I’ll tell you what you can do,
Take to sea and bid adieu.
For Mistlocke you cannot tame,
I promise I’ll stoke your fame.
As a man who grasped too far,
Out of reach that Ruby star.
For red bleeds when in the Mist,
As faded pink does it exist.
So come along, bring your worst,
Into the fray, leap headfirst.
Your head will look so fine,
Piked on this road, your own shrine!