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Archive for the ‘T Series’ Category

 

The watchtower remains, therefore we shall

next steps divine. To mine the Temple Earth

or brook Water’s rush? Dig shafts vertical

to plumb what yonder pile will not bring forth?

Bending bars and lifting gates only

reveal’d sharp teeth for gnashing delver’s tools

‘gainst serried ranks of men. Verily

those rocks spout spears, arrows that fools

may rush and we, avoid. Now to

the question. Snuff Temple Fire for good,

inhale foul Airs, or consider anew

further depths, great mysteries that could

reveal four pillars’ plateau? Feign

not remorse at yon failure, those watchtower remains.

 

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Sel, ghost to the ferry’s decks she doth glide

like a deer to the hunters gaze,

alert, awareness full, but dead inside

to the peace of autumns shorten’d days.

Spell book in hand, yet adorned in dolls dresses

whose trains thrash aside the leaves of patchwall

dances she to wrack Cyndor’s pace.  Tresses

long, flailing declaim a tranquil dawn

to life returned.  Must be her dogs of war

doth haunt this very run, past ‘Bonc and Imeryds

way.  Long Nulb’s own creek and frozen bars

have Dain, Cyril and crew puzzl’d her weird

to no refrain.  ‘Tis plain, without a doubt;

to still her hounds, she must get in, to get out!

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You ran Cyril! You ran. How could you? 

Gave temples lesser the field to ponder

rust and blood and fear, Cyril, you?

The morning rays cannot through yonder

window blind history; you lost your crew,

called Romag to order, bled your troop

to the last straw and for what? All to

wash memory of her last breath in croups

brimming with Pholtus’ rays? Sight this ‘long

His silver’d wand m’lord. So too did Robilar

bemoan Mord’s death on trail, his wailing song

remov’d from Greyhawk cliffs. Popular

tactics aside, mayhaps we pay too dear

in blearing the ghosts to forward our years.

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Proof to ogres and gnolls the same our line held, barely.
A shield sore batter’d the delvers doubted Treme,
Dain to Rufus, blades slicing deeply
the dun rob’d platoon. Yet still they came,
and wakening the sleeping dogs ran through
Rufus to Cyril’s last stand, Treme grinning
death’s head, parrying the bowman’s few
jousts to end our bloody story. Seeing
Oolghrists’ thrall in wait the ranger freed
his panic, and laughing did invite their entrance
to the fray. Then did the gnolls heed
their leaders doubt and run. Rufus, since
revived, charg’d again Romag’s host,
to see the Owlbear put Curate to toast.

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Tis a gift dain to form this lines defense
the martial turn; then feint yes, and thrust!
Bloody yet proud, head high to th’ final dance,
You reel, unbowed to the darkness of distrust.
And the blade and the sword and the man
Hold true to the promise in your breaths demise,
your Lord’s writ, loving kindness to this land
Their powers granted full by this truth in your eyes.
The flametongue fires legions to flight; broad blade
Sunders Romags command of the night.  Rufus
stalwart friend in your parties long plight; made
Holy in the comfort of divinity’s justice.
And should you ascend to Cuthberts domain
You will find a release to this worlds sole pain

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Roiling past infernal screen the buttfaced line crashed

into  Allrem, dousing plans nefarious

to pin his levy ‘gainst walls festooned

with failed ambition.  Gods!  What bilious

smoke the froth’d the Prefect’s lips, smoking

the chamber with lies; conscripts tenfold

waiting the call to temple flame?  Flick’ring

untruths called our heroes, who then did fold

the serpent to cord, flush churches’ riches

to pocket and take their leave.  Yet brands

still smoldered and, as Agnar’s cacoethes

to play did fire his tiger’s eye, mounds

once burning reach for buckled timbers;

beware friends, the sear of dying embers!

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Gods, what wrack of pain cathedral’d this?

Azur’d billets cross’d nothing save cakes of ash,

Banners of Furyondy toss’d to cold abyss?

‘Twas certes an awful debauch, now smash’d

and scatter’d to laughing years, heinous crimes

sung in Iuz’ tongue among arch’d rafters.

This festive ruin of Her dark dream defames

festivity, whorls crimson the torches trailers

into the whispering darkness above.  Shadows

unbidden dance the lantern streams, tapped

to crimes previous.  Heinous the strikes and blows

that brought the Temple down, that left Her trapped.

Yet still, behold!  Myriad paths course the wreckage,

belie desolation, reveal the salvage!

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