The Thieves Tale

[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

so short.



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.


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