A Land Far Away

Blackwell
An Epic by Arras Raventree

No well but a presence, a consciousness with an almost tangible intellect
This infectious sore in the paved, stony flesh of the City of Splendors
The hateful, cruel wickedness was not the intent of any architect
But was a mirrorlike reflection of the character of the Well’s defenders

Many heroes in the history of the City have strove to cleanse this wretch-ed impurity
Soft footed Kal, Famed Siren at his side, Mad Soosh, Swift Laird, Holy Clarianna join the infinite infantry
Some names always remember-ed while their other’s struggle against time’s obscurity
This wound seems immortal as it festers and thrives in infamy

Our tale centers around the latest heroes who would dare to attempt to tame this beast
Loyal Sir Declan a knight most holy and true, unflinchingly stepped to the fore to join the quest
Lovely Luva a wielder of the Weave brought all her skill and perhaps that of a Sorcerer deceased
The last of the tale’s trio is your humble rhymester, though far from humbly dressed

We three undaunted by the reputation, gloom or palpable wickedness descend into the shadow
An immediate response from this foul entity was a vicious cloud of wings and teeth
Our Steel, Barbs and Art become our courageous and effective counterblow
Without revel our trio are through the door to confront the malevolence beneath

Colonies of Bats, Clutters of Skeletons, Mobs of Zombies came at the triad, their numbers near infinite
We companions vanquished all their foes as did the weapons of the heroes of old
Stoic Vale’s Fists, Brave Cornelius’ Hammer, the Cane of Aglorus and the Rage of Kalo temporarily removed the defilement
Yet the chilling twisted vision of the Glowing Tree turned all our precious lifeblood cold

Luva’s mystic fire and divine energies from Declan’s faith or my enchanted lyre
Brought final rest to the living dead that bodily slicing and pummeling never could
Our lives hung in the balance while Lovely Luva set this poet’s cloak afire
We paused for prayer before the final confrontation awaiting us behind the portal of wood

We entered the lair of the Prince of the Undead suppressing our wildest fear and dread
The fiend used foul magics and his life draining powers against we three
Our fellowship bore all his fell enchantments and in the end was burnt and bled
Still we emerged from the netherworld unscathed except for some scrapes and a singed goatee

*A well dressed man walks into the Hanged Man. His cape and shirt of royal purple perfectly balancing his vest and highlights of gold. As he approaches the stage he bows to the patrons with a flourish of his signature plumed hat*

I know this esteemed audience has recently heard the song extolling the exploits of the Purple Dragon Knights of Cormyr during the legendary goblin wars. While I doff my hat to my highly talented colleague and his eloquent ballad, I thought I may humbly offer a tale of one of our own. We need not look beyond Waterdeep's walls for a saga of heroism worthy of a song.

The Shadow War. Is there a Waterdhavian who does not shudder at the name. The entire city threatened by the Mistress of the Night's minions, citizens being plucked from our very streets by the dreaded Collector. It was in our darkest hour, that heores arose to meet this challenge. The City of Splendors Heroes, our Heroes. Heroes like Servant Anovallis Starmane preistess of the Mother of all Magic from the House of Wonder who some of we few are privileged to call Nova.

*He begins to strum his lute using minor chords to set a solemn mood*

The aggressions of the followers of the Nightsinger
And when she witnessed a Collection on the street
That inspired her to research and to bring her
To the House where she brewed the fiend's defeat

In Midnight blue her Art and Faith against Shadow
Our savior from the House of Wonder came
Destroying undead with Moonrakers eldritch glow
True Servant of the Weavemother, Nova her name

Thru the red door to bring the enemy the fight
With her party set to foil the Dark Lady's plot
Her prayer renewed the flow of the Weave's light
And brought the defeat of the fallen Copperpot

In Midnight blue her Art and Faith against Shadow
Our savior from the House of Wonder came
Destroying undead with Moonrakers eldritch glow
True Servant of the Weavemother, Nova her name

Arras Raventree enters the Jade Jug for his first engagement, The room is filled with the following that he has carefully cultivated. He removes his hat and cape with a flourish and places them on a chair with reverent care. A hush falls on the room as he begins to play his lute. A slow but steady strum sets the mood of a march in the inn

Sounds of the Magisters

You can enter by day a normal manse
Twill be quiet as any church or tomb
But if you hit it after dark by chance
You'll hear the music which spells your doom

The portals hum,the imps they cackle,
The ghoul lord's hiss, the zombies moan
The hell hound's bark the skeleton's crackle
The sounds of the Magisters chill to the bone

The inside be grand not a thing amiss
The first floor library, not a book found
The dead don't read just long for a death kiss
Beware the vampire if he's not in ground

For the portals please read Clearwater's book
Or release a friend from the lower plane
Twill kill you with its horns or vicious hook
But twill eat your soul before you are slain

The portals hum,the imps they cackle,
The ghoul lord's hiss, the zombies moan
The hell hound's bark the skeleton's crackle
The sounds of the Magisters chill to the bone

So gather round heroes and hear my song
Ye may think the ghouls, wights and ghasts be bad
Ye think they're the worst but ye would be wrong
It will be the Sounds that will drive ye mad