[Coudnt quiet get this right but ran out of time, may update it later if I get more inspired.]
[Follows on from The Wizards Tale]
Only shadows grace touch upon my tread
creeping into gloom’s embrace.
Behind burbling companions
rumble though the halls
Enough ruckus to wake the dead
an abundance of that ilk slumber in this tomb.
Gorlin staggers in drunken haze
His steps a tangled mess
Even as he falls
refusing to relinquish mug
stolen ale tastes the best
he rancorously declares
while finding solaces on the floor.
Thastin always consolatory
scoops up the drunken dwarf
what does our wizard sees in one of intellect
His talents wasted on conjuring of candle’s light
Beguiling would be scant a praise
the man could turn a pretty coin
sweet tongued, gilding talk with noble folk
or mending wars in far off lands
if he required a goal so just.
And by Thastin’s grace
his words are not his only charm
I find myself deep in the earth
with scant but daggers armed.
Onward now descending down
stairs wrought with ancient hands
decorated in silken webs
dabbed with dust and disinterest.
Elves in pair chatter on
a tongue unknown to my humble ears
perhaps a song or merry tale
the meaning they will never share.
And for all Gorlin’s obviously faults
the dwarf will break a fast,
toast mead and sing in jest
as he banters with this guttersnipe.
But sharp of ears and cold countenance
leaves my head and heart with muddled dread
as if stumbling through
an unpleasant dream when out a wandering.
Focus on the tasks at hand
leave dreaming for peasants now
tucked up in beds a slumbering
We sleep this night on harder floors
swept by claws of unknown beasts
if we wake to mornings light
count that as victory.
A warren would describe
the bowels of hewn stone
we drag our weary souls along
in search for glimmering gold.
A map of elven make
guiding by our sidhe friends
I watch with spiders patience
lest false their words
and with haughty confidence
wander into my web.
And as the bumbling fools
stumble upon some unseen dread
conjure forth a sea of fangs
skittering, oozing death.
I wonder to myself
want manner of woman
would call herself adventurer.