Veraka was chilled upon waking with the whisper,
One she had heard before in a harrowing dream
And found that her fickle power to heal foul wounds
Was now twofold: twice after rest she could muster triage,
Though she was no more cleric than Minsc was a mage.
Unsettled, she still was determined to soothe stings,
And mended Minsc's maladies, making the man whole
When she awoke the wild warrior. He said, "Ah, my witch
Is truly full of tricks, no small trove of techniques!
There is nothing my new lady cannot do or doesn't know,
And Minsc is well pleased you have picked him for peril!"
Veraka grasped his arm in a warrior's grip and grinned,
Then replied, "I may rate reasonably across sundry skills,
But versatility, I avow, is the virtue of Veraka.
You, my mighty Minsc, are much better in melee,
While Xan and Xzar are xenial zendiks of greater magic,
And my only thief skill that might match Imoen is pickpocket.
My capricious cures aren't clerical, I can't turn undead,
So a jester is a jack of all trades, my jaunty ranger.
In any one way I am well behind a specialist,
But a fine factotum fills in for every part."
Minsc said, "My wondrous witch has whelmed me with words,
But Boo believes you are a beautiful bewitcher.
Worry not, I am sure he was wielding a compliment."
Boo squeaked, as if to state his steadfast agreement
with Minsc.
The others soon had stirred,
And gathered at a table.
The group would soon concur
On what path seemed most stable.
Veraka said, "North from Nashkel is now our path,
For the letters we looted from Mulahey link him
To a man named Tranzig who made messages,
The new link in the chain of nefarious knaves.
We have little time to track Tranzig until he hears
Of our heroics here in halting their iron-mongering.
Once we see what letters that courier wields,
It may lead us to Tazok, or even the terrible knight
Who killed my guardian and good father Gorion,
If any justice be left in the world for joking jesters,
Though like as not my luck will not lead me there."
Xan declared, "Though undoubtedly doomed as we are,
We must heed our hopeless quest to help this region,
And unravel the riddle these ruffians are part of."
Xzar said, "So it seems we shall travel to Beregost,
Town of teeming peasants and tawdry temptresses.
So be it! Montaron, load the llamas with lambaste,
And we will be off for a world of wanton banality."
"Mage man, there is no Montaron here," Minsc said,
While Veraka and Imoen gave guarded glances.
"He is dead?" Xzar asked, dire despair in his tone.
"Even so," Veraka said with sure certainty.
"Let me see," Xzar said, then shuffled in his sack
Until he brought forth a bleak skull, bone-white.
"Alas, poor Montaron! I hardly knew him, harlots:
A fellow of infinite fault-finding and foulness:
He hath berated me back a billion times; and now
How delightful his death does seem, like a dream!
Here hung those lips that lambasted and belittled me
I know not how oft. Where be your naysaying now?
Your curses? Your cries? Your contempt and cruelty,
That were wont to set a table overturned? No tirade,
Now, to needle this new state? Quite chap-fallen?"
Xzar ended, poised poignantly with a skull in his palm.
"I don't think that skull is-" Imoen started to say,
But Veraka cut in, "Now come my cagey cohorts,
Let us be off to Beregost and bring Tranzig a beating!"
"Now you're speaking swords!" Minsc smiled, and soon
they left.
The heroes headed on
To find the mentioned man.
They walked the road at dawn
Veraka paced with Xan.
Imoen was immersed in glib impishness
As she teased Minsc and Xzar with talk and tall tales,
So Veraka spoke again to the solemn sojourner,
"What do you think, Xan? Does the day seem dreary,
Or full of foul frights long-forgotten from below?"
"No indeed, the sun shines and I stand simply amazed
We live to see another day; this light and larksong
Almost reminds me of Evereska, young miss.
I am reminded of our mere mortal insignificance
In the dazzling daylight and dappled shadows."
"One might think you may've missed your calling,
To hear such bittersweet turns of phrase
Would normally require the wooing and wiles
Begotten of bards, my bemusing Greycloak,"
Veraka's eyes twinkled as she talked to Xan.
"Ah, I apologize for all my aimless banter,
But if I bemuse you then by all means smile
For all too soon misfortune shall fell us, I fear.
I do not doubt doom will drown us in despair,
So let us linger in what little joy and light is left
Before life fades and all are naught but ashes."
Veraka nodded gravely, then giggled and guffawed
And Xan turned toward her in tenuous good humor.
"Yes Xan, just so, we all take a jarring journey,
Death and suffering stalk us in senseless sorrow
And none know when our number will be drawn.
We two are alike, twin sides of a tossed coin:
I have chosen to jest and jeer jauntily
In the face of bleak banality and bitter bereavement
As humor helps my heart to keep from breaking,
While you linger at the lips of lachrymose longing
And face the full foulness of fear and finality.
In the end, we will be much the same I warrant:
Soberly solemn and grinning ghastly in the ground."
"If anyone buries our bodies," Xan bemoaned brightly,
"And we aren't left to linger at last for the crows."
Laughing again, Veraka let loose a lay
Derived from a dirge but set to a ditty
And she danced in the dappled sunlight of the day
As slowly and secretly, a strange thing happened:
Xan smiled.
They spoke and wandered on
toward Beregost's rich inn.
Before the day was gone,
they started to be friends.
They wandered some ways from the well-worn path
At Imoen's request to ramble off-road,
And fought fetid gibberlings through field and forest:
foul furballs with fangs always ready to fight.
They lingered lost a time in lonesome woods,
Till the troupe's morale was taxed and tried.
They suddenly saw a sour old man in a loincloth
Coughing such that he seemed bound for a coffin's enclosure.
He wheezed, "Hooligans! Harlot harpies! Get out of my yard!
Stop your pestilential pestering for a portent or purpose!"
Veraka said, "Sir, I may be a stray hooligan,
But no strumpet surely, nor sassy soaring woman;
Verily I am Veraka, adventurer of vim and verve.
If you have aught to help us with your hermit's advice,
I would hear your wise words, and will trouble you not."
"Parley then, pretty girl, with Portalbendarwinden,
Hapless hermit and hearer of blowhards in haste.
My advice, I avow, shall avail you 'gainst avarice,
or not; almost certainly not, now hearken nigh:
Never take raisins from rabbits, all right?
Never spit in someone's face unless his moustache smoulders,
And wear not wooden knickers without plenty of salve."
Xzar snorted in disgust in the silence that settled,
As Veraka shot the hermit a venomous view
Then viciously voiced vitriol in vehement vagary,
"I've about had my FILL of riddle flinging, quest fetching,
Put-down throwing, pun hurling, hostage plucking,
Iron mongering smart-arsed fools, freaks and felons
Continually testing my will, wits, wisdom and patience!
If some straight answer resides in your skewed little head,
I had better hear it posthaste you henbrained hermit,
Lest I lodge an object larger than Elminster AND his hat
Lengthwise into a section of your being so seldom seen
That even the devil denizens of the Nine Hells would not deign
To touch it with a twenty-foot rusty halberd!
Have I MADE myself most perfectly CLEAR?!"
"The Spawn!" he wheezed, then with what speed he had,
The hermit Portalbendarwinden headed for
the hills.
The group all stood in shock
At Veraka's tirade.
Minsc stepped out to take stock
Of passage through the glade.
Minsc came back bearing news of the road to Beregost,
So they set out in silence 'til the city was soon seen.
They fared well finding Feldepost's Inn and Tranzig,
Who held a high suite on the second floor.
They tread lightly to Tranzig's room ready for trouble
And came through the door to dare his danger.
"Don't bother me, beat it! I need ta be going,"
A rat-faced man in a robe rudely spoke in a rush.
"Perhaps you'd please tell us why you're pining to leave,"
Veraka said sharply, a steely gleam in her stare.
"Uh, I gotta give a lecture on Garl Glittergold,
For some folks at the Friendly Arm Inn," he lied.
"I don't buy it," Veraka said, bringing out her bow.
"Would you believe it's about Bahamut?" he asked.
"I don't think so," Veraka said, drawing a dark arrow.
"Would you believe I'm debriefing Beshaba priests about beer?"
"No," Veraka chuckled, now nearly amused.
"Would you believe a bar mitzvah for Blibdoolpoolp's believers?"
"Oh come off it Tranzig, tell us true of your tale,
Or face a fierce end from this feathered shaft."
Giving a nervous glance, he said, "Fine, I give in.
I'm a courier, I carry letters for stone-cold killers
Who would whack you in a second if they were here.
You can have 'em, now you'll hafta lemme go heroine."
"I don't think so," Veraka said, then released the stout shaft
And the questers quickly quashed the former mage
Tranzig.
The courier fell with ease,
But Veraka felt disquiet.
The letters she had seized
Spoke of the bandits' riot.
"It would seem several mercenary teams solidified
To a fierce fighting force intent on finding all iron.
It must be a mighty leader with money and lordly mien
To command gnolls, hobgoblins and humans without havoc.
These are no mere bandits, but a bold incursion
Disguised such that we'd deem it ordinary dealings.
Friends, we now face a foe with a focus
On strangling and siphoning the iron trade, it seems.
To what end I know not, but I worry our warriors
May not be ready to rile the army of marauders,"
Veraka said, studying the notes spread before her.
"Speak not of such silliness! We are strapped for strife,
Minsc and Boo shall behead any bandits beheld!"
Xan said, "It must be satisfying to be so savagely simple.
Our leading lady is right, it is hopeless to lead
Five against fifty, with formidable generals."
"Well V'aka, you got a plan?" Imoen pursued politely.
"I hope someone does," Xzar said, hopping happily.
"It's time we took a moment to train and explore,
And equip each and every one in equal measure.
We will wander wild woods where wonders wage war,
Comb cliffs and coasts until we can cope
Against the grave garrison that guards Tazok.
I have learned of a lout that will lead us to luxury
If we can find the fellow; for five thousand gold,
We must bring proof of Bassilus's besting,
A murderer and magic user purportedly mad."
"Money and mayhem? Make way Evil,
For Minsc and Boo come to kick bountiful butts!"
Xan said, "We seek Bassilus the Murderer you say?
The town crier's task? I fear this trial is too great,
And doom most dire shall deal an early death;
But if, by some chance, we should best Bassilus,
It might give a slim chance against Tazok's goons
With the wares we could buy with the bounty. So be it,
Onward to futility, our fickle fate must fall."
"That's the spirit, Xan! Five thousand gold, huh?
Let's go shopping to see what sort of stuff is for sale,
So we know what we're working for," Imoen winked.
"Alright, we'll take a break in Beregost, meet back
At the Jovial Juggler by dusk," the jester said.
"We should travel in teams for safety, I think;
I'll stay with Veraka so a swordarm is near," Xan said.
"I will walk with my witch," Minsc said, and Xan winced.
"Don't worry sis, me and Xzar will stay safe and secure.
Yeppers. No problems could possibly appear."
Xzar's smile was so sinister even Veraka seemed unsure,
But the two bolted off into Beregost before anyone
could speak.
They would not face their foes
Til they were fully armed.
They shopped in Beregost,
Until cries of alarm.
They bought more big blades in case of breakage
Due to the dolent iron still in distribution
And found for Minsc a fell composite longbow
Full-formed with magic, from Feldepost's fine inn.
Veraka remembered she carried a written letter
And delivered it to the damsel whose husband had written
And sent a halfling courier, killed by cruel ogrillons.
The lady was well pleased with word from her husband,
And gave to Veraka a rare ring wrought with runes
Which helped resist ruffians and rude magic alike.
They replenished their arrows and lead-wrought sling bullets
But Xan said to save some coin for spell scrolls
Held by a haughty mage in High Hedge to the west.
"This has been a good day," Veraka grinned gaily,
Until they heard the hew and cry of hard-pressed heroes.
Imoen staggered into view, still scorched from some assault
And Xzar came close behind, running at a content clip.
Veraka strode forward and soothed Imoen's singeing
As she said, "Who assaults us? Speak, what has happened?"
"Um, y'see sis, there was a slight misunderstanding-"
"The bearded betrayer comes!" Xzar brayed out for battle,
As a well-armed dwarf wielding a wicked axe
And bearing a broad shield bore down on them boldly.
"Now it's personal!" the dwarf fumed, full-ready
to fight.
Far up the street they saw
More figures for the fray.
Imoen said, "Least the law
Ain't also on the way."
Veraka ventured, "So you've vexed the guards, too?
Step any nearer and I'll slay you sir, so state
Your intentions instead of instigating your end!"
This last loud language she lobbed at the dwarf,
Who fumed and fussed and finally roared,
"I'm an assassin, ye arse-brained apple-bottomed 'arpy!
Nae the sort who skulks in shadows and stabs ye once,
But the kind who buries a battleaxe in yer buxom bosom.
Karlat's me name, an' killin's me game, ye ken?"
With that, the dwarven warrior pressed in for war
But Minsc made maleficent melee on the marauder
Long before the broad-bearded dwarf barged up to Veraka.
Up the street, they saw a second conflict come in sight:
A beautiful woman bearing a staff was being assaulted
By a brute of a man who bore the bearing of a farmer.
Veraka let loose arrows from her longbow against
The man who might mar the mysterious maiden.
With some surprise, she saw her release a bolt of lightning
Killing the cad who kept attacking her crossly.
In the meantime, Minsc and the others made Karlat
Regret his profession as he writhed in rigor mortis,
Fallen from the fine efforts of their fighting force.
The lovely lass now approached, and some length back
They saw several men hiding and watching the sight.
"Greetings, gorgeous girl! I am Silke, thespian extraordinaire.
Your friend there has fouled up my job offer fully,
Though I appreciate your help in handling that highwayman.
If you'll compensate me for causing this calamity,
I will let you live, and we'll linger no longer."
Imoen spoke up, "You said thugs were gonna slay you,
But you were gonna kill them to get gems and gold!
You betrayed me, you're a bad, beastly, baleful bit-"
"So Silke," Veraka interrupted, "it would seem
Our difference of opinion is in deleterious dispute.
Why don't we raise the stakes and watch a wager,
Where the winner takes all, and the loser walks away?"
"Since you offered me succor, I'll listen for now,
Though my patience is precious thin, pretty one."
"You have said you're a thespian of more than slight skill,
And I am an actress as well: Veraka Cursebringer.
Though you won't have heard of me, I have this wager:
We will each muster masterful monologues in town square
And the people of Beregost will hear it, a public play.
The winner will take all, every which possession
The loser carries, and the loser will be cast out completely,
Never to return to Beregost's bright bars.
What say you?" Silke smiled a sinister smirk,
Then said, "So it seems we have an accord.
Call the town crier, let him call forth the crowds,
We will wage a war of words before the world's eye.
May the best woman win," Silke winked, then
walked off.
Xzar said, "Oh boy, a play!
I LOVE slapstick routines!"
Imoen said, "There's no way
She'll beat your trollop scene!"
Veraka whispered, "Imoen, a word if you will?"
The two trotted off to talk together a time
Among the plain trees of a plump pear orchard.
"Alright, let's hear it: how did these hardships happen?
What in the world did Xzar whisk you away with, Imoen?"
Imoen said, "Well, y'see, so Xzar started a tour
To show me Beregost and all its bars and buildings.
Turns out some were houses with worthless locks
So I practiced lockpicking a little, just for practice!
I was lookin' at some stuff from a chest when somebody
Got the wrong idea and ran to go get the guards!
Well, we ducked into Feldepost's to drink some wine,
But a man named Marl must've been feeling mean
'Cause he came up to us and kept calling us names!
Xzar said some stuff to him, and then he started attacking,
So we scooted outside and gave 'im the slip.
A little later we met this lad named Garrick,
Who gave us a job to guard that gasbag Silke.
When men came wanting money in trade for many gems,
Silke said to strike, but I saw they were square merchants
And I said I wouldn't slay 'em, so she cast a spell
And I was lit up with lightning, I almost died, literally!
We ran in the Red Sheaf Inn to retreat,
And Karlat came after us, tryin' ta kill us!
When we left, Marl was marching up mouthing off at Silke,
Something about setting fires and destroying the city
And those two took to fighting right before we found you."
Imoen paused, perceiving Veraka's perturbed appearance.
"Imoen, I can't believe you made that many enemies
In the span of two hours! So you saw fit to steal,
Provoked some pissant peasant who nearly pounded you to pulp,
Took a task the whole team should have talked about first,
And acquired an assassin after angering an actress.
This is thoroughly thick-witted, especially for you."
Imoen stood ashamed, but then she said sorely,
"Well you didn't make time to take mercy on Tranzig!
He had given up, you didn't have to kill him Veraka!
He was a real rat, alright, but you killed in cold blood.
Are we executing everyone, everywhere, every time?
Sure I screwed up, but you're scaring me sis!
I knew Gorion's daughter, but I don't know this dame!"
Veraka was struck into a stony silence,
And when she spoke the sound had a steely edge,
"That girl is getting grizzled, in some ways she's gone,
I can't come back to Candlekeep, I can't call it home.
If Gorion were here things might have gone gladly,
But he's gone to his grave. The world is grim and gray,
I joke and I jest but this journey jars and jilts me,
And vengeance is vowed easily now by Veraka.
Laws and lords never loved me, no lenience lent,
So I'll serve what small justice I can on this soil
Until the traitors and their trucklers are taken to Hell.
Mercy must be merited, meant for the meek and mild,
But a reckoning comes for those who rack up ruin.
Vengeance is my pact, I put it to you plain;
I make no apology now or in nights to come
for death."
Imoen's countenance had paled
At the pact now thus incurred;
Yet sisterhood prevailed:
They returned without a word.
The time came for the town crier to tempt crowds to come
And see the savvy spectacle of an actress's duel,
So folks found their way forward till town square was filled
With a mass of many people seeking mirth or merry fancy.
The young man Garrick came with garrulous greetings,
The same one who hired Imoen to handle Silke's scheme.
"Never before has a bard been bestowed higher honor
Than to introduce to you two titans of the stage,
Ladies locked in illustrious combat to satisfy
A wager, and will determine a winner when we're finished!
The first is a thespian known in theatres the Coast over,
A mysterious mistress whose monologues moved even
The Dukes of Baldur's Gate, and dignitaries more distant!
Once a starlet of the Dale Wind Troubadours, she will woo
And bedazzle you, break your heart and bring you sweet joy!
No more need be said, her name is renowned: 'tis Silke!"
The crowd cheered, though a few kept a cold stare on Silke,
And Garrick gave her a pained glance before continuing,
"The second is our challenger, who seeks to subdue
Our starlet Silke, to seize both her belongings and Beregost
For all future performances, forcing the loser to banishment!
This young damsel lacking dockets is a diamond in the rough,
Beautiful but unpolished, bold but brash!
She has helped heal Nashkel's mines, but how is her acting?
Can she vie with this vixen? I give you Veraka!"
The crowd cheered once more, but with muted mutterings.
"Step up now Silke, and speak of sagacious sorrow!
Her selection this evening is from Stern's 'Seraleste,'
In which the heroine has fallen into hapless melancholy
After losing her lover in a long, bitter war
And bearing the fell scar of a fiery inferno
Seraleste survived in a strike against her city.
She runs among the ruins until atop a roof
She surveys the destruction and delivers a dire speech."
Garrick stepped back as Silke staggered forward, costumed as
Seraleste.
Imoen said, "She's prepared,
But she can't beat your bit!"
Xan said, "Aptly unfair."
Veraka just said, "Shit."
Even before Silke started her speech as Seraleste,
Veraka rapidly realized her error in underrating
The acting ability of this aggressive actress:
It was more than the consummate costume she came in,
But her whole manner had shifted into the hapless heroine
From a popular play, acclaimed positively by critics.
Xan also was able to appreciate the artistry
With which the wily woman came wandering forth,
Feigning forlorn so well he could feel her false fears
As at last the lady let loose a lament in loud cries,
"Father! May Finder Wyvernspur fling forth my cry,
Hear me if you yet live! I will yell and yowl here
Until you come to claim me and cast away death!
Or some sister, perhaps, sing to me, I am Seraleste!
Let your sweet words soothe sorrow until father comes.
Brother Jaren, just this once your jests would be jovial,
Come caper before me and call away my woes!
Why do you not answer? This is the day of disaster,
We promised we must meet here should melancholy
Visit us, and verily, all is vile and vicious now!
Why can you not come? Some cousin or uncle?
Why stand I alone in this city's cinders?"
Silke's voice broke then as she stood in somber silence
And gazed at the crowd through grim, grasping eyes
As a tear trickled down her ash-tainted cheek.
"Are none now alive who know my name?"
Silke sent forth a sob, well-rehearsed and strong.
"Father, you must come, for I fear my fair Feanor
Has fallen on the field to a fierce spear-bite;
Nay, 'tis more than fear, I know now he is dead.
You can yet cure him, father! You cast cleric cures,
And raising the dead is a rite readily known to you!
Your bright balms may better my burns as well,
But I beg you, bring Feanor back first for me!
Why do you not answer? I declare, does anyone
Hear me? Help me! How the hellfire crackles,
The smoke singes the very air and smites my lungs.
Two score and seven members should meet at this square
From my family; surely some would fare through the flames!
They cannot all be killed! Some cousin, some uncle..."
Silke's voice broke again as Seraleste mourned in sorrow,
And the crowd was clearly enthralled; a few even cried.
"Anyone? Aught or anyone answer my cry!
No, there is no one, Thrimhold has fallen thrice,
I am alone, and all is ashes; all is ashes and dust.
FATHER! Don't forsake me now, Feanor has fallen,"
This last was a loud whisper with lachrymose trembling,
"What use the clear crimson crystals he has wrought me,
What use may marriage be without my love, my man?
Forgive his faults, Finder Wyvernspur, forgive me
For failing him in the hour of his final need.
Oh misery! Oh despair! Oh doom and destitution!
Shall Seraleste be the last of the line of Lord Vailam?
None have come, none have come! Now the fire runs near,
Shall I cast me from this crenellation to the courtyard below?"
"No Seraleste!" a little girl cried from the crowd clearly,
And a few faint chuckles fought their way through the townsfolk.
"No, for no peace comes to forlorn formless shades,
As surely I would go from girl to ghastly ghost
For the heartbreak here heaped upon me, I fear.
I will wander the world bearing the welt of these flames,
To remind me of the worse wound I wear on my heart.
There is naught but needless death to narrate here;
I will serve whatever penance may perchance in my plight."
So saying, Silke staggered away from the square,
And stepped down a side street to end
the scene.
The crowd was quiet at first,
But soon burst with applause.
Veraka felt a curse
Must be among her flaws.
Veraka stepped swiftly inside the Burning Wizard,
A tavern close to town square, tasteful and tidy.
Her companions came quick to consider her coyness
As Veraka made a mug of mead disappear.
"Bollocks and botheration, I blew it this time!
That thespian will thwart me, her theatrics are divine!
How can I hope to hinder such high-formed art?"
Veraka moped miserably as she quaffed her mead mug.
"Minsc knows that none other than his nice witch
Will win with great style worthy of song!
Boo says to do your best, even if you be beaten,
But I think he has had too many herbs today."
Xzar said slyly, "We can still escape out the back."
"Phooey on you!" Imoen said, "We won't fall back from this!
C'mon sis, you can't let that cowled harpy cream you,
I've seen you sing songs that set old Ulraunt to tears!
Elminster himself was made so merry once
They came and carried him off cavorting to keep from laughing
to death!" Veraka did a double take, then said,
"Laughing to death... that line does lodge in my mind;
I have an idea how to follow her high-hued praise."
"Truly?" Xan asked, "To me it seems a trying task
Even for one so witty and winsome as you.
Fortunately, failure from this is but banishment
From Beregost, and lightening your load of loot.
Do not despair of this, for much darker demons
Haunt our journey, majestic jester, jeopardous fates
Far crueler than can be counted in the reckoning of men.
This is but a besmirched blister that soon can
be healed."
Veraka smiled at Xan,
Then rose up from her seat.
"I'll do the best I can,
Even in sound defeat."
They followed Veraka forth from the Burning Wizard
And she stepped out in steady stride to meet town square,
Stripping away sword and shot down to silly clothes,
Fit for a fool, yet refined enough for court frolic.
Garrick got ready to give an introduction for the girl,
But Xzar heaved him aside with a great hip-bump.
Regal yet wild-eyed, Xzar roared forth to the rabble,
"Illustrious lords! Luscious ladies! Listen well!
I come to talk of one whose tales merit telling!
The ladies may lay swooned, the lads lay swelling,
For here is one both fetching and fearsome fell!
Behold, I stand at the door and knock, brave babes,
To announce an anxious riddle in human ancestry:
Prepare, proud people, and peek at your peril
As Veraka now vies to unravel the vagaries
of Death."
His introduction done,
Xzar quickly stepped aside.
Veraka came calm but fun,
Nor twinkling eyes could hide.
In bemused banter and bright-eyed rhetoric,
Veraka spoke a soliloquy thus to the assembled:
"Why do we drear when Death comes ever near?
To cast our eyes downward with causeless crying
Is no more fine than finding fault and fear
In sunlit streams, or some sweet lover's sighing;
For Death, I deem, does more than most not dying:
His handiwork has us hastened hard at work
To make our mark in mortal lands, and trying
To taste each day's delights, nor duty shirk.
So girls get gauzy gossamer gowns to flirt,
And men make marvels forged from metal tools;
'Tis Death's domain down in the delving dirt
That tasks our art, inspires tippets of tulle.
So cast your kisses kind and raise your rank,
Each deed you do has Death's demand to thank."
Before the crowd could react, Veraka crooned
A wordless dirge in upbeat cadence, dancing
A long-forgotten frolic from far lands
Taken from a tome in Candlekeep's towers:
A celebration for spirits long-since passed.
Finally, her frolic stopped and she faced the folk:
"Something there is that doesn't love a death,
That sends the solemn grave-swell under it,
And spills sorrowful teardrops in the sun;
And leaves gaps of the fallen in the breast.
Are they not better off than we, e'en blest?
Hard toil and trouble take us in this time,
While spirits soar amongst the gods sublime!
Some ghosts, I grant, do go astray and haunt;
Those schmucks deserved it, so such is their want,"
Her irreverent reversal had chuckles and wry smiles,
"And maybe some burn bright in blaze of Hell,
But those were asses, so it suits them well,"
The laughter picked up among lord and lowborn alike,
"Vagrant vampires turn those vixens with no luck,
And so say I, they do most surely suck,
Wronged revenants, restless, wreak revenge and ruin,
That death is definitely not one to be doin',
And your body'll be borrowed by necromancers of course,
For foul skeletons and zombies as a fiendish force,
Demons and devils defile the soul you had;
But other than that, death's really not that bad."
The crowd cheered and chortled at Veraka's cheek
As she bowed and came back to be with
her friends.
"I don't know if you won,"
Xan said with a small smile,
"But I think you have done
Jokes fit for elven guile."
"Well done, winsome women and warriors of the stage!"
Garrick had gotten back to his garrulous announcing,
"If all in the audience would applaud for the actress
They deem most deserving, the contest will be done.
Set your hands together for the sensational Silke!"
The crowd clapped and cheered for the capricious lady,
Though something unseen came shoving from the back.
"Now let's hear it for the helpful heroine Veraka!"
Once again applause came, and a few wolf whistles;
Though they were close, the throng favored Silke.
Silke approached Veraka smiling a smarmy smirk,
As Imoen murmured, "Um, y'might wanna make-"
"Not bad," Silke gloated, "for a sheltered green girl,
Though oration or storytelling is more what you did
Than acting. Still, you have some skill stranger,
But a wager has been won, I will have your wares
And have it heard, on your honor, you will not-"
"There she is sirs, that Silke sought to steal
My gems and slaughter us standing in the street!"
A man said to some guards; one guard glanced and said,
"There's that thief from earlier! That cute girl and the
crazed mage!"
"Gotta go!" Veraka said,
Their group ran to the west.
"Another time!" Silke fled,
She thought northward was best.