The Word

I.

While you have had your bit of sport

And lolled around this posh resort,

While you did stroll and sometimes sidle,

Your enemies have not been idle.

And their plan has advanced along,

And they’ve grown smart, and they’ve grown strong,

And once these guys can get no wiser

They will not care for Kebnekaise.

Soon you can leave; you ought to know

You will not want to do it slow.

For reasons I will not explain,

You’re gonna want to talk with Cain.

And, when you get there, Cain is not

The one you’ll have to fear a lot.

Beware the ropes! (They are not his.)

Beware the stabbing of the kris!

And Cain, he rolls, and Cain, he weeps,

But Cain, poor Cain, he never sleeps.

Touch him not and do not worry,

But sister, you had better hurry.

II.

OK I think it would be fun

To take your items one by one.

Your fortress plan needs work, you see

Because of planet Mercury

That is to say, to put it finer,

It’s like a globe, but it is minor.

Of all your tricks they are not scared

Because those fellows are prepared.

A paper search I will not hinder

But all you’ll find are odes by Pindar.

The spring is deep but nothing more

The Roman tombs are just a bore.

The place where gorgons walk the earth

’Snot worthless, but may not be worth

The trouble. Although once king Schlomo.

Sent to here his major domo

Most things there are now gone scott free.

Except, of course, all the xp.

III.

Some cats have run like little fraidies

Far from the giant stone work ladies,

But now, with faith in God or might

You say the time has come to fight.

There’s reason, sure, to be pugnacious:

Edged weapons will be efficacious,

And even if (O tragic! tragic!)

You’ve found but little use for magic,

Still, ever what of dread or harm

Could not be beat by your right arm?

I once said (long since) to a man:

“’Tis best to have an exit plan,”

And so that man did build an ark.

Now, should you ask the Patriarch?

He’ll tell you fight them in the dark,

For I would say that you don’t wanna

Be seen to fight this false Madonna,

(For as the true one from her womb

Brought man salvation from the tomb,

So false Madonnas may, instead,

Convert the quick into the dead --

Or, at least, the not-so-quick)

But, really, their most clever trick

(The reason secrecy is vital)

Is: make the foolish see an idol;

And fools resent, and fools get vexed.

If you (good luck!) defeat them, next

You may find here you’re no more popular

Than with Throk or with folks octopular.

The Patriarch, he is not fooled,

And will not be by idols ruled,

So if you’re not caught in the act

By hostile crowds, he for a fact

Will give you quite a bit of thanks --

Though if you meet him, you’ll fight fangs.

I answer you, in manner zesty,

No cestus now, but rather cesti.

It never hurts to have a look

Inside a dusty, ancient book.

Nicephorus will not betray

(Not in Andronicus’s way),

But a hard bargain he will drive.

May leave you poor (but still alive).

Still many things are unexplained,

And there’s much wisdom to be gained,

So even jumping through his hoops

May well be worth the price of soups.

Blah blah blah blah and yadda yadda.

(Signed) Holy Ghost and Son and Faddah.

IV.

a.

So Innocence, that vile slut,

Has proved that she’s everything but,

And off, without a second look,

She runs with poor Reynaldo’s book.

I fear it may be fairly hard

To find the group from Kebnegard.

For Xanex, and this is no joke,

Can speed away on Freya’s cloak.

For Mieslav and Orm, an oil,

Can help them travel without toil.

But Innocence, though quite a goer,

Must nevertheless move much slower,

For she’s not traveling with her lord,

But, acting of her own accord,

She travels lonely on a steed --

And yet she does have one night’s lead.

If you would catch her, catch her fast,

Because your chance will not long last,

And ere the race has long been runned,

She may meet up with Hildagund.

b.

Your girlfriend went, for goodness sake,

Not towards an island but a lake.

And furthermore (if you still care)

She only made it halfway there.

So best get cracking, double-quick,

And, furthermore, best have a trick

Or two still hidden up thy sleeve,

Or she’ll escape, and you will grieve.

I promise that you’ll be quite stunned

If Innocence and Hildagund

Should get together. And beware:

Off-topic danger’s everywhere.

But if I were a desperate mage,

I’d study hard Hercules’ page.

c.

So still you seek Reynaldo’s whore.

I think I told you once before

That if that lady gets to choose

She’ll e’er perpetrate a ruse.

There is no doubt the bark she took

Was headed down the eastern brook,

But just as innocence is rare

In this fall'n world most everywhere

Then Innocence (she’ll long to gloat)

Was soon rare on the eastern boat.

Then why the route that she had chose?

Have you studied yet the page? For those

At conference, ere conference was through

Had heard a subtle, vital clue.

But ’tis off topic, lots of luck

In catching her. Soon, or you’re stuck.

Already now a pagan god

Is being called to Novgorod.

Seversk, and one who’s oft a liar,

Departeth in a veil of fire.

V.

Who rides upon a steed of air

Adventure meets beyond compare.

But which direction that you pick

Will bring you differing perils quick.

If towards the coast but slightly south

You ride into the dragon’s mouth;

And if you ride still south of that

Then Al Sirof will blast you flat;

And south of that, still souther still,

Then you might find some folks who will

Secrets explain of those you’ll meet

About the king who has the feet;

If on the coast, then you’ll be fixin’

To meet the dust and stony vixen,

But, by my saints and holy mother,

Coast way’s no worse than any other.

VI.

Your fiery friend, yes I remember,

The living brand, the little ember.

She woshippeth a pagan god

And so her fate’s a trifle odd:

She fought a thief who’s only half

Her level (and you’re going to laugh).

He beat her up and made her work

As scullery maid to a heathen jerk.

Well, she escapes, it’s quite a story,

Though it brings your true God no glory.

Well anyway, in just a week’s

Time she’ll still, with her bunch of freaks

That she is pleased to call a team,

Be trying to catch a big trireme.

VII.

I guess that is one way to go,

But there is someone that you know

Within dear old Chrysopolis

Who may have found things you would miss.

Have Alex seek who was a stranger,

And be prepared for lots of danger.

So be like Peter, he's the rock

We're built on. P.S. Don't hail Throk.

VIII.

Dear Eorl, you are a giant geek,

You’ll never do that in a week.

Your butt, I hear, smells like a skunk,

Now come on boys, let’s all get drunk.

But if you will not get all jolly,

And needs must keep on in your folly,

I’ll say: you won’t get weak and flabby

If you adventure in the abby,

It’s not quite, you know, a “kill zone”

But I would not go it alone

(Well, I would, but I am a god)

There’s things down that that are quite odd.

Now Norwit you may find, or he

May seek right now your company.

But many people, you may find,

Have left this region far behind,

And you may find them if you seek,

But pal, it won’t be in a week.

IX.

a.

Although you try so very hard,

You’ll never fly to Kebnegard.

And ware the flying ointment, bud,

Inside is Christian babies’ blood.

Now, I do not forbid its use,

But don’t be going fast and loose,

You may use evil to serve good,

But ne’er forget innocent blood

Has once again for you been shed.

Its use hangs heavy on your head.

b.

O know ye this, my little Anna,

The salves work in a random manner,

I can say, on first application,

For you, they’ll have an hour’s duration

Or a little more, but when used next

Their book will have a different text

(The yellow salve, I should point out,

Will rather more quickly run out,

And green, like the coniferous,

Will last forever, more and less.)

X.

Just as the winter brings the snow,

What goes on here the watchmen know,

They know that things go on below,

Beneath the surface of the snow.

You find, when looking ’neath a stone,

(They’ll say) some things best left alone.

If there is something here illicit,

The town itself may be complicit.

XI.

Minoan goddess must be fed:

The labys has a double head.

Her one hand giveth, one hand takes;

She gives the thirst, the thirst she slakes.

Thus ever act the pagan demons:

Capriciously (cf. King’s semens).

Some items serve you well to fight

And boost AC, or power of flight,

But vaunted Minos does not judge

The dead (on this point I won’t budge

Despite what Cretan cretins say).

But I must warn you for the day,

Or p’raps for the appointed hour:

Beware the bulls’ most secret power.

Should they send you to the abyss --

Not me, I wash my hands of this.

XII.

So those who seek a wizard’s power

Are tempted by the big black tower.

The tower is a tempting one:

It rises up to blot he sun,

And promises those in the shade

That, sword in hand, they have it made.

While dangers lurk on that site, true,

They should not prove too much for you.

I trust I won’t sound esoteric

When I say you should bring a cleric.

You’d think that to oppose its might

Would be a tower that is white;

But what the tower does not boast --

An eagle is what it fears most.

What e’er ye find in side, beware!

What e’er ye find inside, take care!

But what do you fear most? The chill

Touch of one who does worse than kill --

Fear not, for like a bouncing ball,

You’ll lose no levels there at all,

Save “level” meaning “floor” or “story” --

But that is just an allegory.

And ah, the levels you can gain:

In spells, xp, new levels of pain.

XIII.

The party has one time before

Destroyed a weapon held in store,

A weapon of the octolords,

A blackened demon-prince of swords.

While shouting “crud,” and “merde,” and “scheisse,”

There in the heart of Kebnekaise

Where molten lava rock doth flow,

They threw it in the fires below.

This flail that you want to kill

Has much to do, for good or ill,

It may not be forever broken --

But ware ere other words are spoken.

Who seeks to fight the fire with fire

May well find that he’s burnt by ire.

XIV.

Think allegory for a minute:

The human face has three caves in it

And only one of them has teeth --

And as above, well, so beneath.

And I will think you’ll find the same

Holds for the places that you name.

The eyes once had a beam or mote,

But you’ve already slit its throat;

The nose may hold some golden snot,

But still remain there it does not;

Yet ware the mouth, the teeth, the lips,

The lore, the Xanthippe, the drips,

The lightning, and the one whose hand

Had once been blessed and is not damned!

XV.

Scorpion pants may bring you class,

But they may sting you in the ass.

So goes it with some things and powers:

They serve you well for several hours,

Then at some time (when? Who can tell?)

The whole thing simply goes to hell.

The card you drew the other day

Has ta’en your scorpion pants away.

If you should want them back, it’s true

You needs must go and press “undo,”

Or else the scorpion pants you’ll lack.

But do you really want them back?

XVI.

No need to ask these questions twice:

I have three tidbits of advice.

I give the last first with my love:

In the kennel, look above.

Should you move closer to the pool,

Then don’t forget this golden rule:

That water always leads to water.

The sleeping girl’s no hedgewolf’s daughter.

Should you let sleeping piglets lie?

It’s risky, but not bad to try,

For ladies should not lie around

In some strange coma underground.

But if she gets the wake-up push,

Then you should still beware her tush.

XVII.

Some things that open do not part

E.g. the eyes, the human heart.

You have a box that, like an egg,

Hath not a hinge and thwarts a yegg.

If you should “open” it, no door

Will open and spill on the floor

Great coins and riches; you instead

Will gain some riches of the head.

And not too much, it’s just a little,

A fragment of an ancient riddle.

To see the words that will appear

You’ll need an eye but not an ear.

XVIII.

What power of mighty priest or mage

Can bring a young girl back to age

Throughout the blessed Russian lands?

Look to the water of the hands,

Though be the water e’er so pure,

It may be but a partial cure.

The power of the speedy spell

Might not pass puberty too well.

It’s fraught with danger of mutation,

And eerie growths and deformation.

But who can cure up any ill

If, by some chance it be her will,

And she consenteth to the plan?

The grandma knows. The grandma can.

XIX.

Foul beasts abound inside the cave

But what you seek they might not have:

The ancient kobold demon gods

Who still dwell outside Novgorod’s

Environs, and the devilish splash,

And some far person’s rancid trash.

I am not sure if you can go

Inside the caves without much woe;

But, then again, I guarantee

They’re filled with buckets of xp.

XX.

Well, some would say you must be ga-ga

To go in search of Baba Yaga.

The beast is evil, also mean,

She does not keep her dentures clean,

(Although ’tis said, her temper’s mild

When she doth meet a little child.)

She liveth in a dancing Hut

That danceth all through Russia—but

No power or on earth or sky

Can locate it, commune nor scry.

Also, you never can be sure

That, finding Hut, you still find her.

But some say that arrives the beast

Where she is needed most, or least.

Beware, howe’er, the chicken mark,

Distinguishing you in the dark,

And which you do already wear—

She does not like to see it there.

XXI.

My friend, you do not have a prayer

If you should seek to fight Ortheia

For she is an Olympian

Whose pow'r and might will rise again!

And we shall dance then through the wood

And drink of the warm flowing blood

Of him who would be such a fool

As to oppose our blessed rule!

You could do worse than bow and swoon

Beneath the splendor of the moon;

In fact, I, Bacchus, have to say

Most people do worse every day.

I ask you, by the moon's green cheddar,

Could you and your friends do much better?

So come on pilgrims, grab your sword,

Tell your pals, and hop aboard.

The lunar train leaves every day

(They serve refreshments on the way).

¶So why would you wish to go fight

The ever changing jewel of night?

I guess you'll do fine if you go:

I'm saying that you shouldn't, though.

XXII.

The sword is one of ancient power

That long has waited for this hour,

When somebody should come and find

And give a body to the mind.

And while the body broods and waxes

The ones who hurl the golden taxis

Have heard the power’s siren call

And sent the whispers through the wall,

Have sent the one who’s named for sleet

And always moves on silent feet.

Should you destroy the sword dark-powered

You needs must have it be devoured

By something (what? go ask a sage)

Of similarly ancient age.

XXIII.

I warn you first of anything

Do not piss off the dragon king

He is a clawer and a fanger

And not a gentle man in anger.

Be polite, but don’t be pseudo,

And don’t dare challenge Chudo-yudo.

But do expect a test at length,

The zither or the test of strength.

Politeness, tests, perhaps a gift

And you’ll survive the watery rift.