Songs of the Bard (5)

[Ladellon]

Chauntea’s Admonition

A mounted lord once chanced upon
A woman sowing wheat.
With scorn he cast his eyes on her
And vaulted from his seat.

“Old hag,” he cried, and bared his chest,
“For you, these wounds, I’ve gained
In battling ogres, orcs and gnolls –
Protecting the untrained.”

“While you, in safety, have done naught,
I’ve risked my life each day
Driving pure evil from the land.
Now, what have you to say?”

The woman took the young lord’s hand
And led him to a knoll.
“Behold,” she said, “the trees and grain.
‘Tis Faerun’s very soul.”

The lord, entranced, stood marveling at
The wonders of the world,
And, turning, saw no withered hag
But Chauntea, unfurled.

Three seed she placed within his palm –
A flower, grain and tree.
“Your eyes have been awakened, now
You shall be truly free.”

“Plant oak for strength and rose for peace
and wheat to sustain life.
Renounce your injudicious ways,
Till earth and take a wife.”

The lord obeyed and in fresh tilled fields
His wedding night was spent.
And he lived, pleased, with the sixteen
Children Chauntea sent.


Fine Song in the End

Along I was hobblin’
Both weavin’ an’ wobblin’
When I spied a goblin
An’ ran him clean through with m’spear.

When rovin’ I eat pork,
An’ for show, use a fork,
But if I spot an orc
Then I’ll slit his throat ear t’ear.

Once upon a plateau
I had climbed, doncha know,
I noticed a vile drow
An’ gave ‘im his head in a sack.

An’ speakin’ o’ one head
There is nothin’ none dread
More’n meetin’ undead
Unless you c’n make their bones crack.

Once, a travelin’ wizard,
Impaled through the gizzard
By a surly lizard
Was avenged - I gutted the beast.

An’ there’s none that resents
Chaps who claim t’be gents,
Yet are certainly Zhents,
More’n me – I’m not scared in the least.

Oh, creatures an’ beasts an’ bugs an’ men,
Y’meet ‘em on pathways again an’ again.
In wilds, in caves, in ev’rywhich place,
If you run away they’ll most likely give chase.

Smash ‘em an’ bash ‘em and leave ‘em t’rot -
They’ll likely be there when revisitin’ the spot.
But what sorta thrill would exist if they ceased?
I’m sure I’d refuse simple feast after feast.

For glory bound seekers, nothin’s without strife,
Y’ve got t’risk limb an’ sometimes y’whole life,
So, suit up an’ venture along with me friend,
There’s revelry, ale, an’ fine song in the end!

Yes, we’re able t’heal an’ we’re able t’mend,
So, suit up an’ venture along with me . . . my dear . . . friennnnnnnd . . .
There’s revelry, ale, an’ fine song in the end!


Eastwest

If the road seems long,
That you’re travelin’ along
An’ y’don’t know which way is leastbest,

Just sing out this song
An’ y’can’t go wrong
if you’re always headin’ eastwest!

Eastwest! Eastwest!
If you’re wanderin’ all day
An’ cannot find your way,
To your comrades just say . . .
There’s no doubt we should all head eastwest!

If it’s late an’ dark
An’ you’re out on a lark,
All pursuin’ a deadly beastquest,

Raise your heads up high,
Surely no one will die
If you’re always headin’ eastwest!

Eastwest! Eastwest!
If you’re wanderin’ all day
An’ cannot find your way,
To your comrades just say . . .
There’s no doubt we should all head eastwest!

If your sword is worn
From the orc heads it’s shorn
An’ you’re seekin’ t’get it priestblessed,

Seek with confidence
For you’ll have no suspense
If you’re always headin’ eastwest!

Eastwest! Eastwest!
If you’re wanderin’ all day
An’ cannot find your way,
To your comrades just say . . .
Southnorth I’ll eschew
Backforth just won’t do
There’s no doubt we should all head eastwest!


The Faire

The faire! The faire!
Who loves the faire?!
I want to make you well aware
If you’ve but just a day to spare
You’d best invest it at the faire!

There’s likely jugglers and musicians,
Mages casting apparitions,
And all the local politicians
Gathered at the faire!

You’ll see things viewed in naught but dreams.
There’s nothing plain – it’s all extremes!
The very street and city teems
Partaking at the faire!

The faire! The faire!
I love the faire!
It’s come to town and I declare
That nothing offered can compare
To the fabulous wonders of the faire!


Beetle-Skewer

The rank and horrid sewer
Is where I'm gonna skewer
A scorching fire spewer.
You'll soon see Beetle-Clangor in its glory!

I'd kill the beetles who're
Thinking they're minstrel chewers
Until there are much fewer.
I'm sure it will be fast and rather gory!

I'll be the lone pursuer
You all can say, "I knew 'er -
A bard known as "The Skewer!"
Just leave it to me to relate the story!

Oh, don't you bother singin'
You'll set my ears t'ringin'
Just leave it to me to relate the story!