Listen, hear! A terrible offence has been committed in our days, horrendous crime in our date, a wrought wrong, iniquity injustice!
For the quiet morning in front of the quiet temple of the morning, turned into a quarrel, turned into strife.
What was all this shouting here, this din, this ado, this loud ballyhoo?
Famed among the folk, the knights bickered in altercation of argument, controversy of contention.
Sir Elric and Sir Dulembane, an issue of a strife they had, a strife of an issue. The crowd demanded to pluck them asunder, only Dulembane would not listen, would not comply, for he wished that not, but to close with, to broil a brawl, to tangle a hassle.
He challenged Sir Elric to a duel, to engage within a struggle was a desire most dear to the spirit of his creed, his credit, his credence.
But Sir Elric refused, he would fight him not, for his sword was not drawn, still in place, closed in case, poisedly in the hearty warm of his scabbard, in heat of sheath.
Yet the wry Dulembane drew his thirsty steel blade, his lusty iron edge, to lunge, to smite, and struck him, and cut him.
Thus Sir Elric tried to defend himself, to fend himself, but alas, he was wounded, he was soon to be dead, he must flee, he must fly!
And as he must so, so did the traitorous villain seek to succeed, to hinder him in the hind, to stab him in the back.
And thus was Sir Elric put to sword, was put to death, was slain, was slaughtered.
Now the crowd, the good people of Vallaki were in rage, were enraged: "This is a outrage, this is a misdeed, a monstrous deed!”
But what, oh what? The priesthood of the morning came for the scoundrel's defence, for the villain's vindication, to hasten his run, to aid his escape. Such was their creed in credence, their spirit in sanctimoniousness.
People were held at bay by these pious pulpits, these frail friars, merely one mettled maiden, sole spicy soul, dared to act against this violation, this wrongdoing! Lady Em!
She tried to stop Dulembane, to obstruct injustice, to thwart wrong.
But the coward struck her down, bashed her below, and receded to the woods, retreated to the forest.
Such was the end of Sir Elric by the coward Dulembane, such was the deed, such was the murder.
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Many thanks to Cat of Colors and Brewmeister for coming up with this epic poem and Cat of Colors herself for writing it and giving it voice in game with the great reading, it was both a surprise and blast to see what happened turned into a poem. I had a lot of fun reading and listening to it, I thought other people might too so here it is for your reading pleasure.
