Notes have been discovered in various locations around the darker, more secluded areas of the town of Vallaki. Some can be seen in the alleys, while others have been discovered in the underground sewers.
The Corporal's Love Shack
There's a great brothel in town,
you just have to look
You won't find it in any cranny or nook
Not the Merriment, and not the Prancing Nymph
It's in the Guardhouse where you really need to peek
Corporal Benedikte's sleepin' around
Widows and more in every fancy room I've found
Corporal, Corporal, he's got things to hide
Got his hands on all the wrong kinds of Privates
Deny it, defy it, he'll certainly try it
Her husband's rolling in his grave
But it's Vallaki, oh it's Vallaki he betrayed
She's far from the first, his betrothed he hurt,
Nothing will stop him from getting under a skirt
The people are tired, we're sick of his lies
Spends more time with doamnas and less with the guys
The Nymph though is cheaper, we promise it's clean
What other secrets of his are to be seen?
Scattered throughout the back alleys of Vallaki, the wooded areas outside the city, and even the sewers.
The letters are all drawn in straight lines, looking almost as if the words were chiseled into stone rather than written on paper.
Deceptive Vows - Oath or Ally
Oh the knights, so brave and bold,
Their oaths are worth their weight in gold,
But when they pledge their loyalty,
Their hearts are bound, their will not free
Just don't forget, that in the end
Their word is all they will defend
And if their oaths should lead that way,
They'll betray you without delay.
So if you would befriend a knight,
Take care that you choose them right.
Knight of Thyme? Ezra bless, a waste of time
Sword of Vigilance? Much more like the Stick of Arrogance
Order of the Sacred Rose? Just make sure to block your nose
Nothing worse than a blind believer,
until next time, signed, Rhymeweaver
Scattered throughout the back alleys of Vallaki, the wooded areas outside the city, and even the sewers, a new poem can be found.
The unique style remains, with all letters drawn in straight lines
Tattletale
From the lands of Darkon, a hopeful hero came,
Tall and strong, Vahn Stanek was his name.
He wanted to be liked, adored and well respected
But alas, it was his heritage that could not be negelected
And so our hero thought, how can I make that switch?
"Oh I know!", he said, "I would turn into a snitch"
He reported to the Garda, each and every day,
Hoping to gain favor, in any petty way.
But hero he was not, that much is clear,
For heroes don't abandon, the ones that they hold dear,
So tell me Vahn the hero, The Rhymewaever has to know,
Was her body even cold yet, before you let her go?
Charlatans Applied
In the Wayfarer Kinship, they hire all,
No standards, no vetting, no protocol.
They fight the good fight, they claim to be kin
But loose lips and traitors are lurking within
Their fey leader, clueless and blind,
Unaware of what lurks behind.
Her so called kinship, their loyalty shattered,
Their secrets lie bare, to the enemy scattered.
So beware, those who seek their aid,
For in the Wayfarer Kinship, loyalty decayed.
Tell them anything- It will be revealed
Nothing they know is ever concealed
So tell me Melian, the Rhymeweaver has a question
Do any of your kin know what is discretion?
The Interview
I don't do interviews, but they kept on asking
So I will tell you what you need to know, and you will stop harassing
I look like everyone else, walking along the crowd
Polite and well-mannered, never too loud
But when night falls and the world's asleep,
I have access to secrets others try to keep.
People seem to think their letters are secure
They leave them waiting in the taverns, how very immature
Here's something for your paper, a headline that should sell
The Rhymeweaver has your letters, even when they're left at the Broken Bell
With talents such as mine a secret isn't safe even if its written down
If anything its easier compared to spying all over town
And so I read the deeds of self described heroes and self appointed knight
I see their all the incompetence, the hypocrisy is quite a sight
And as the real seeker of the truth, I bring these things to light
But its not just the wishful heroes who in their letters like to chat
Even you, reporter, are not immune to that
So beware, Dragomir, and take heed,
Because I have read of every single deed.
You think that you are clever, watching safely from afar
But the Rhymeweaver knows exactly who you are.
Conversation with an Angel
In the foul sewers dwells an angry preacher
Writing his messages in the dark, like some sort of creature
He goes by the name of Vastin, full name Vastin Swift
He's seeking knowledge about a certain bird, moving with such drift
His faith and herald, its secrets I discern,
Each twist and turn, its lessons I learn.
Why should I aid you, on your desperate search
Your coins are hollow and mean nothing, just like your so called church
My knowledge stays mine, hidden and kept,
Unless you, Vastin, can finally adapt
If you crave wisdom, well, there is a way
Make me an offer, a tempting price you must lay
Do not try to find me, I will find you
If the price is right, you will get your clue
I do appreciate the rhyming, much better than the bird
The Rhymewaver is waiting, Vastin, waiting for your word