The Tankards War - Tel'arato Dagor

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Adriorn Darkcloak
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The Tankards War - Tel'arato Dagor

Postby Adriorn Darkcloak » Sun Nov 13, 2005 9:08 pm

Tales of the Tavern Wars Ballad

The Tankards War


The Armies of Darkness, so vile and dread,
Orcs, demons, and devils, and even undead,
Lay waste to a city, once peaceful and grand,
None other in likeness, in all of the land.

Oh the Flights from Myth Drannor had just begun,
All merchants, all nobles, all now had to run,
Aulmpiter’s forces all covered the Dales,
Unlikely heroes now told in these tales.


A half-pint and three drunkards passed,
Four tables and two tankards smashed,
Elves running, elves fighting, orcs at the door,
Of the Blue Lute Tavern, of Myth Drannor.

The elves stand outnumbered, one-hundred to one,
All doors have been broken, nowhere to run!
Orcs slaughter the lonely, the drunken and all,
Is there no hope for the Lute’s Tavern Hall?

And out of the stage now, some minstrels emerged,
Eyes angry, eyes vengeful, for orcs must be purged,
All ran to the staircase, to its second floor,
One elven, one human, two gnomes now make four.

The orcs wish no prisoners, all must be dead,
They chase the four minstrels, some fifty it’s said.
Through hallways once lavish, once peaceful to rest,
Through doorways, up ladders, all run at their best.

Up came the minstrels, now far up the Inn’s top,
The roof had no exits, no safe place to stop.
The bards held no weapons, no sword and no mace,
But run swiftly they did; for now, won this race.

The roof held no safety, no way from this fight,
So stand did our heroes, a show for the night.
The elf had some magic, the human his feet,
The gnomes their fine tankards, for orcs shall they beat!

Stand did the heroes of the Blue Lute Song Hall,
Some magic, some power, and some very small.
The Flights from Myth Drannor must not be for naught,
The children, the maidens, and none must be caught.

The four stand out-numbered, some fifty to one,
Would any bard see the fine bright morning sun?
Would magic and kicking save the four last bards?
The gnomes did not worry, for they’d won at cards.

The orcs were upon them, having climbed the stairs,
To kill the four minstrels, to take them in pairs.
But luck was not with them, this dark Kythorn eve,
The bards were not shaken, their magic did weave.

Fifty deadly orcs stood poised ready to strike,
With shortswords and axes, and one with a pike.
When out of the night air, a spell did appear,
The rooftop of orcs did its magic fire clear!

The elf had his magic, and use it he did,
Of orcs and their troubles all now were they rid,
When up from the staircase more orcs did appear,
The human was ready, with feet from the rear.

The orcs were too hasty, too ready to kill,
Too quickly they climbed to the top like a hill,
The human was ready to push them aside,
With a kick of his feet, some twenty all died.

The gnomes had been waiting, and drinking some wine,
For the orcs to come running, all in a line.
Two tankards came flying both made out of wood,
More orcs started falling, all dead now for good.

And this continued for an hour or two,
The magic, the tankards, the kick of a shoe.
The orcs were unable to stand on the top,
As soon as they made it, they started to drop.

The bards held their promise to kill all the orcs,
All wishing to hear the fine popping of corks,
But too much had happened, and all needed rest,
They could not continue much longer this test.

The human was first to look down the stair top,
And see no orcs remaining, none more to crop.
All through the Kythorn night, the bodies had dropped,
Kicked, spelled, and tankered, the orcs all had been stopped.


Four minstrels did exit that night through the door,
Over three parties of orcs dead on the floor,
The halls of the Tavern, now troubled no more,
And thus ends the Tale of the Tankards War.


Adriorn Darkcloak, as told by the Bard Oslarelar

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