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Archive for January, 2010

Hear ye hear ye now good folks a Dyvers
A good news I bring ye to turn o’er frowns.
Heroes dispatched what had us afear’d-
Nightgaunts, sere and evil, flew high, shot down
in western quarters anon. The wee folks
o’ Danderfluff rose to Mayor’s call, manning
those roofs after winter suns fall, cloaked
and wary. Saw they in Celene’s close flying
towards ole Seamus’ repose six gargoyles, blooded
wi’ the nights catch. Gave them chase a motley
crew to towers break. There climbing in darkness
did fate fall to feast – and was proof’d to dismay
by quarrels aim’d well and woven webs flawless.

Wounded climbed they the devils to flight –
but felled and good were gargoyles that night.

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Tall tales, whiskey and blood doth Mazy’s spray! When clear’d espy those drinking at third place; home to Robert Footswift, Bob’s own table. ‘Twixt tankards do spread crimes and plans most foul; those caught bragging catch the cutpurse’s pick. Worse Bob himself may flay standing liars and cheats caught dressing the table in brass; dress your tales plain ‘fore jousting this drake sooth.

Hear now then news from your bards faithful tongue!  Rufus, scout of Hommlet fame passed through anon; third time to Verbobonc this fall, a charm!  Save now fail’d he to bring fair loot to town.  Rather he trail’d ‘cross threshold fellows new.  One of oelvenkind did second quietly.  A pitiful sort did third; a mendicant whom I would swear did but attach by chance.  His loincloth mirrored our soot filled night.  His gnarled nails scratched boils festering, and flies furrowed his long, matted dreads.  Disgusting!  Yet, respectful were his wardens.  Fed him they, and slaked did they his thirst.  And in their company was he transformed.  Donning thoughtful manner he turned wise, consulting matters grave in fairest tone.  And as the night grew old and tankards light, others came, pressing lips to his faded cloth, which he in magnanimity allow’d.  I wondered silently at this treatment, and sought to learn his true identity.  Yes, the cloth  reveal’d it all – Celestian!
Rare are such wanderers to this fair ‘burg, who through disciplines arcane journey far.  They know not bounds of merest Oerth, but kiss the saltless seas of Luna, and hurling past Celene their souls do fly.

Still in lidless slumber, skin a tatter’d film
to masque the countless leagues travell’d within,
the Celestian remains. Gone from home
he treks the muted stars, through the welkin
and onto stranger planes. Flames ethereal
do trace his frozen flight, and nighthags soar
to warp his weary arc to ends infernal –
but he escapes. On and on, past far
Elysiums fields to trace the astral skies
rides he the Devas wing onto Olympus.
Always alight the Celestian now flies
past barricaded Gith, warring endless –
Thither and yon showing the strain
to mortal coil still, Celestian remains.

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