Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Saga of the Seventh Wanderer: Wolverhampton
What twisted skeins the looms of Fate have lain
Across my path! They haul me hinterland
Far from bloody duty, but never doth
Hammer rest. Here bathed in ghostly froth
I stand, last breath of ancient squire
Abjures me now to serve an eldritch ire.
Forgotten enmity 'twixt green and red,
Does gird my limbs to pass through flames inspired.
What twisted skeins have brought me here,
In flight from port-town's existential fear,
I've fallen in with travelers passing strange,
Deliverance of living statue's grange.
We walked the shadowed forest path,
Soon to find crime's bloody aftermath.
A reaving horde burdened with plundered fare,
We gave chase at a glimpse of golden hair.
A sprint! then heady row, a hammer's blow,
A reaver shorn of plunder's glorious share.
By twisted trails, and forest byways,
Sent our lady's vengeance astray.
The poisonous doom that bloomed in messhall pot
Gave silent sigh from leaves that shadow brought.
So the incarcerated wights went free,
To wreak fell carnage through the Banyon tree;
When savage champions begged forfiet
Red Wanderer turned to face the fiery lea.
Emboldened knights, like gods of ancient song
Came charging forth to face the monster's throng.
With lassos' loop of eldritch rope he's bound
His flight suppressed, they pulled the beast to ground.
My Lady's saviors hurled themselves unto
The burning wing -the lizard's tail askew-
Though dirty birds hurled clods of filth and fire,
Those fearless knights cast spell and sword of virtue.
Oh, what twisted runes are carved upon the tree of life
That takes this wayward king from strife to strife!
(This poem is the retelling of the last four sessions in a campaign in which I am playing a Paladin called Wolverhampton the Wanderer)