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Archive for November, 2014

Tall tales, whiskey and blood doth Mazy’s spray! When clear’d espy those absent of third place; home to Robert Footswift, Bob’s own table. ‘Twixt tankards would spread crimes and plans most foul; were braggards’ left to catch the cutpurse’s pick. Would Bob himself remain to falsify, yet Patchwall’s coming sees none left but porters..

Bear silently your bards acrid tongue!  Well now you’ve burst the sack ‘fore Wenta’s gaze, and what say she?  ‘To lords and land for mercy’ doth cry her dun shirted acolytes to the man.  Welfare welfare you’ll cry, Istus turned north while still you grasp a Commons’ cup.  Adventurer’s, ye!?  Back to stables and pastures with ye then!  Leave my horn alone.

Empty, Bob’s own, you ask thy bard?  As the Porters’ work call fest’s curtain shall I detail this board’s recent hist’ry.  This week did speak of employ lucrative, a dangerous course to move your feet this fall south and east, yeah south and east said they.

And now they’ve gone; flown to, where to?  Know not.
Yet mark the scales of Obad Hai doth settle
in their wake.  They have fled so soon Bob’s
round that still there stands a queue, mettle
and more to test!  Mine own verse to employ
would vanity stand for litmus, but hark!
Criers shriek of robbery in The Quarters, boys
speak of beasts, Ourang-Otans to guard
dark secrets loos’d, river pirates and
sewers stalked.  At Brewfeasts end?  And flown
the coop a Temple Army new!  Forfend,
Pholtus, ‘gainst Syrul’s lies fully sown
across our streets!  Alas the porters’
silence grows more questions than answers.

 

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