Parchments amidst High Society

[Malleus Maleficarum]

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[BraveSirRobin]

[Within a few short hours of the distribution of these documents, a patrol of Gendarmes is seen actively removing and launching a formal inquiry as to the origin of the flyers to any who may have witnessed the man hanging them. Almost every flyer, if not all of them are removed within the course of a single hour.]

[Better Dread than Dead]

[Suddenly, a host of the posters and pamphlets that littered the streets yesterday in the dead of night make their sudden re-appearance, each of them placed side-by-side with a poem that seems to have been written in response.]

I cannot determine which is worse,
Your tepid insults or your shoddy verse,
As for your rhymes? Well, let me declare,
It is not a 'scheme', if all words go with 'lair'.

It is no great shock, that this work goes unsigned,
Its beauty is superficial, it remains unrefined,
Acerbic words, written by but a craven!
They pale when examined by this bardic maven!

Man-eater, am I, yet I've not tasted you,
You would be as though hard-tack, or a bland day-old stew.
Those whom I fancy, you speak of in disgrace;
But your words hint at envy; you would take their place!

To look 'pon my bust, and yet not from afar;
To burn as you grow close to this bright, scorching star!
Hélas, he must wonder how truly pear-shaped they are,
Writing angry screeds, poems doomed to be sub-par.

[Pav]

[A slim woman in the Gendarmerie uniform is seen taking down both original libel and ensuing poetic retorts at uneven intervals.]

[Malleus Maleficarum]

[A lone poster appears in due time, however short-lived its presence may prove.]

My name matters not, nor do my talents,
Though in my rhymes I stumbled, regained I have my balance.
Plain and sundry it is for all too see; a salted wench was struck down by her peers,
Writhing and kicking, at von Scrotum she leered.
‘Fool!’ she cried, ‘Can you not see?
The eyes of all you have directed upon me!’
Down came the sharpened edge of the rival hidden,
The claw lost not one she had chosen.
‘Alas!’, she thought, ‘there goes my pleasure!
My frustrations now will ascend beyond measure!’
Out of the gates of comfort, the wench was thrown,
Only to release a withheld moan,
‘Retort I must,’ was the call, ‘I will have my revenge!’
'Twas her sullied honour she sought to avenge.

But perhaps we have a common foe,
Let us strike at his heart instead; let us strike out of woe.
Put to divine use your ferocious bite!
Together we stand! With splendour we shall fight.
The flower of the Gendarmerie has been branded impure,
Lest we save it, it shall ne’er be cured.
For too long you and the city have spread your legs and squealed with pain,
It is time you split your captor’s linked chain.
No longer shall you be maids of the Falkovnian weasel!
We shall see him beg; he will grovel!

As heroes we shall out-ride,
Upon mares we will return astride.
When he beseeches you to plant your lips upon his member,
No, you shall cry, you are the wench that ne’er surrendered!

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