Krendiri Battle Poem: Silver Knights and the Search for the Lost Orb
By Conan Kmieck
At the entrance of the fallen obelisk,
the Silver Knights were under siege:
an electric cloud creature had wandered in
shocking the party with its tentacle attacks.
Fire, slash, shoot, whack, stab, hack—
the party valiantly chipped away
at the awesome armor of the floating foe.
Elre summoned his magical stallion
and challenged the monster by charging
while Adoril cast a spell to deliver distant blows.
Marcus meekly scurried from the skirmish
moaning because Kai commandeered a bow,
and burly Tavin had been thwarted
because a dwarf can’t wound what he can’t reach.
Vallen was vexed using his magic to heal,
so alas, a fireball could not be fashioned.
But finally, Kai fired a pair of arrows
that pierced the viscera of the villain
whose body then plopped on the platform
and leaked its lifeforce, leaving a sparkly pool.
The party then wanted to finish their rest,
but the ziggurat was sullied with slime,
so Tavin tried to summon water to wash the stone,
but failed his cast and became further fatigued.
As the party rested, eagle-eyed Elre stood watch.
He perched on top of the wicked ruins,
scanning all directions for possible peril.
Suddenly, Marie arose from her sleep,
the pretty potion maker was unsettled.
“What’s wrong?” Elre enquired.
“Don’t you hear the damned drums?” Marie asked.
The wicked witching hour had begun,
and Marie was being silently summoned.
“Elre, I made an important promise
to complete a weighty ritual,
so I need to go at once to the sunken temple!”
“Don’t worry, Marie. I will transport you there.”
Then Elre summoned his swift steed,
and they raced over the baneful bayou.
While Marie clung closely to the resolute ranger,
Marcus was murmuring in his sleep
about min-maxing and murdering minors
but was awakened by the thud of Tavin’s toe.
“Wakey-wakey, Marky Marcus. Elre needs us.”
Then the dwarf dove from the platform
and swam into the swampy water,
leaving Marcus to bitterly mutter,
“Why does Elre get to escort the damsel?”
At the temple, Marie performed the ritual,
and the rest of the party finally followed.
Tavin in merman form emerged from the marsh,
Marcus leapt across the bog with his mystic boots,
and Adoril guided the canoes to the rendezvous.
Now it was opportune to descend down
the water-filled shaft at the shattered obelisk.
Down Tavin dove—the party peered into the pit—
but soon he arose, battered and gasping.
“Those damned darklings are waiting down there!”
Uncertain what to do, the party called up Ulene,
but she was no use, so Adoril dashed the scrying dish.
There was no other option, so Adoril, Tavin and Vallen
valiantly dropped down into the sunken nest.
Adoril was the first to swiftly sink
and put the hearthstone on the bottom.
Tavin and Vallen entered the enchanted air bubble
as the darklings initiated an encounter.
Parry, dodge, hack, block, slash, heal—
the trio traded blows with the cavern creatures
who were eventually eviscerated,
allowing the party to access the underground.
With the darklings dispatched, the party could proceed
to find the lost orb of the Silver Order.
The Silver Knights tiptoed down the tunnel
surrounded by their enchanted bubble.
Jeff was tasked with dragging the hearthstone
that surrounded the band with a sphere of air.
The knights explored the underwater warren,
sifting through the silt and debris,
investigating the long-sunken machinery.
Unexpectedly, Elre identified an object
and studied it with his danger sense.
Nothing detected, so he picked up the orb
and was suddenly drawn into a vision:
From inside a glacier, an ancient evil uttered,
“I see you!” Then the bubble became frigid,
and party could see the wisps of their breath.
Wishing to withdraw from the grievous vault,
The party hurriedly headed out.
But not before Adoril pried out a power crystal,
and became deaf and blind by the endeavor.
However, not all was hazard in the flooded hollow,
for mischievous Marcus encountered a cloth,
that stretched out like serpent, motioning for his help.
He heeded its call and now has a magical sash
that acts as a added arm. And if he’s ever in the loo
with no paper, he has something to wipe his arse.
Journal Entry of Marie Le Doux
By William A. Thorn
Written in Huduan (Huatherian Translation)
I dunno who I be nay’more. I ain’t da same femme as da day before when we goin’ in dem piros into da bayou. Dis morn, on da way back, it gimmie time to refleck on da way I be now. T’weren’t so long back my name be “Madame Le Doux,” a fate-teller of respeck, if ever a ting be possible in da slums of Casper. I can still member dat roba’Dayou, a pocrit spoutin’ spersions on my bon character outside my parlor. I offen wonder, had I listen to Ethe’s tellin’ an not made dat homme all boude an hont for sposin’ his femmini inclinations, would I still be “Madame” or woulda fate had me runnin’ nay’how?
(I don’t know who I am anymore. I am not the same woman as I was yesterday when we went on the canoes into the swamplands. This morning, on our return trip, I had time to reflect on who I am now. It wasn’t so long ago that my name was “Madame Le Doux,” a respected fortuneteller, if ever a thing were possible in the slums of Casperia. I can still remember that priest of Daeus, a hypocrite spouting aspersions of my good character outside my parlor. I often wonder, had I listened to Ethe’s advice and not made that man angry and embarrassed for exposing his girly inclinations, would I still be called “Madame” or would fate have had me on the run anyhow?)
Turnin’ silva was da only ways for keepin’ livin’, not for no grand callin’. I woulda preferrin’ livin’ much safer in da slums of Casper, despite the bigot. At least daer, I coulda be livin’ my own life. As a silva, I woulda preferin’ makin’ potions for da silva in Tule, as borin’ as it woulda be, dan be trekkin’ in the bayou, counterin’ danger at every foot. Marie t’weren’t made for dis, and I shurra hek dun like the bebbette and moostique bitin’ me all up. My podnas, doe, dey be da serious ones. Deys made for gettin’ all serious, unlike poor Marie.
(Becoming a Silver Knight was only a way to survive, not for a greater calling. I would have preferred to live much more safely in the slums of Casperia, despite the bigotry. At least there, I could be living my own life. As a Silver Knight, I would have preferred making potions for the order in Thule, as boring as it would have been, rather than trekking in the swamplands, encountering danger at every step. I wasn’t made for this, and I sure as heck don’t like the critters and mosquitoes biting me up. My companions, though, they are the serious ones. They are made for all of this fighting, unlike poor me.)
Dat Adouril: Now he be da beau of dem all, an he be da strong one. When dos tahtee cocodril came at us in da bayou, Adoril be starin’ dem up like hes got an ahnvee for some boudin, gahlee! He be ready to mawgee dem up. Daer ain’t no ting dat scare dat homme, an dat be sometin’ dat scare me.
(That Adoril: Now, he is the charismatic one of the them all, and he is the strong one. When those monster crocodiles came at us in the swamp, Adoril was eyeing them up like he was hungry for some boudin1, golly! He was ready to eat them up. There isn’t anything that scares that man, and that’s something that scares me.)
Dat T-Avin: He one o’dem nain. Now he be like a hairy peeshwank roach cuz ain’t no ting dat seem to hurt dat one. He take a kickin’ like ain’t no ting he preferrin’ better. An he be swimmin’ like a cocodril. Be uncanny dat one when he go under da water like he do. He a hush one, doe. Dunno if he dunno the tellin’ or he got da cabris.
(That Little Avin2: He is one of those dwarves. Now, he is like a little hairy cockroach because nothing seems to hurt him. He takes a beating as if there were nothing he prefers more. And he can swim like a crocodile. It is uncanny how he goes under the water the way he does. He’s a quiet one, though. I don’t know if he doesn’t know the language or has a wedgie.)
Dat Marcus: He be da one from outta sorts. His tellin’ be a bit strange, mais he be a tinker, an he be a schemin’ all da time. He gots two sharpins, mais he prefferin’ a bit’o dancin’ around when all be serious like he got da cayenne in his drawz. He like da prankin’, too, actin’ like a cooyoon an givin’ chickens da trouble.
(That Marcus: He is a foreigner. His accent is a little strange, but he is a thinker, and he is scheming all the time. He has two swords, but he prefers some dancing around when a fight breaks out as if he has cayenne pepper in his trousers. He likes to play pranks too, acting like a fool and causing trouble for chickens.)
Dat El-Ray: He be da most claire alf I’da seen. His sharpin changin’ when all be serious. He gots da joie de vivre, doe. Ain’t no ting bring dat homme down. He also gots dis aerie cheval he be ridin’ all da time like he da hero! Mais, he be a beb, doe, helpin’ a femme out. Guessin’ he gots da touch a romantique.
(That Elre: He is the fairest elf I have ever seen. His sword changes when a fight breaks out. He has a joy for life, though. Nothing brings that man down. He also has this airy horse that he rides all of the time like he is some kind of hero! But, he’s a sweetheart, though, helping a woman out. I guess he is a touch romantic.)
Dat Kai: She be a tete dure, mais I admire her for dat. She be a strong one too. I be tinkin’ cuz she be Errow, she needin’ be ornery like a cocodril wit all des hommes around. She gots dis great big meenoo that be tearin’ tahtees up when all be serous. I be putting’ da envy on her for her be a femme guerra an a surviva.
(That Kai: She is hard headed, but I admire her for that. She is a strong one too. I think because she is Errow, she needs to be ornery like a crocodile with all these men around. She has this great big cat that tears monsters up when a fight breaks out. I am envious of her for being a woman warrior and a survivor.)
Dat Vallen: He be a off one. He be a alf mais wit peau noire. He be a hush one, too, readin’ all da time and tellin’ to himself like he be coocoo. Mais, he be puttin’ da cunja on tahtees when all be serous. He use da fahyuh an burnin’ everytin’ up. He also be putting da cunja on his podnas, healz dem up nice. Sometimes when he be smillin’ my way, doe, I be gettin’ the freesons.
(That Vallen: He is an unusual one. He is an elf but with black skin. He is a quiet one, too, reading all the time and talking to himself like he is crazy. But, he casts spells on monsters when a fight breaks out. He uses fire and burns everything up. He also casts spells on his companions, healing them up nicely. Sometimes when he smiles at me, I get the goosebumps.)
An now poor Marie. Da day before, I be a scare little one, mais today, I dunno what I be. Dat juju Mamadeaux be givin’ me—I dunno if be a justa cunja or a gris-gris. Ethe no longer be tendin’ me, an j’ai gros couer. Mais if she no longer tendin’, den who be doin’ da tellin’ I be hearin’ now?
(And now poor me. Yesterday, I was a frightened little one, but today, I don’t know what I am. That ritual that Mamadeaux gave me—I don’t know if it was just a spell or a curse. Ethe is no longer with me, and I feel like crying. However, if she is no longer with me, then who is doing all the talking I am hearing now?)
Notes:
1. A boudin is a kind of sausage or blood sausage
2. A “T” preceding a name in Huduan typically indicates “little” or “junior.” It seems Marie has interpreted Tavin’s name to mean “Little Avin” since Tavin is a dwarf.
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