Cower Ballad

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By: Demetrios Posted on: February 21, 2006

A Monk there once was - Horkvali by race,
And o'er all the lands, he engaged in a chase.
For this Monk loved apples. The lust in his eye
Would be greatly enflamed when the fruit he would spy.
But one further fetish would fill him with glee:
He loved to eat apples, then burn down the tree.

One day, after absence from Sapience's lands,
He spied a new orchard and spit on his hands.
"So many apples," he chirped with delight,
"And so many trees that I might set alight.
I'll raze them all down as each one, its fruit sheds."
The nearby inhabitants just shook their heads.

But one Bard was not so amused by this man.
"These are not my trees, but I like not thy plan.
I understand well thy true love for the fruit.
Tis pleasant and nourishing. Well it doth suit.
An thou will but eat it, then we shall be friends,
But harm thou the tree, and thou shalt make amends."

The Monk was indignant from fingers to toes.
From his carapace, a great whining arose.
"Thou hast threatened me! I shall not relent!"
The Bard pled elsewise, "That was not what I meant."
Monk covered his eyes and he stopped up his ears,
And sang "Tra la la" to the tune of his fears.

He ran into town with alacritous speed,
And slandered the Bard's name to all who would heed.
He conjured up tales of malice and wrath
That grew with each telling by sinister math.
To all the Bard's friends, his name he maligned
To right all the wrongs he made up in his mind.

The townspeople gave the Monk no friendly hearing.
"We're sorry the Bard scared thee so in that clearing.
But we know this man and detect some distortion.
Thy picture of him doth seem out of proportion.
Perhaps he reacted too strongly astray,
But he hath a good heart. So go thee thy way."

The Monkish fear grew. He imagined great hurts.
"Perhaps I can hide behind fair Cyrene's skirts.
For Bard is a citizen, yet so am I.
He cannot harm me as the current laws lie.
Although I am still blind and deaf to his hiss,
I'll send him a missive to taunt him with this."

And so, in his fear, this poor Monk without pause
Taunted and threatened Bard with Cyrene's laws.
"However," he thought, "Still in danger am I.
This Bard could one day leave Cyrene, thus I die.
I still have one course to take, by my perception.
I'll threaten him with my Mhaldoran connection.

Perhaps he shall then know true fear from my bluff.
(They're evil, you know, so that makes them tough)"
He contacted all the dark names in his book,
But Mhaldoran "friends" did not fall for the hook.
"Who -is- this man who complains now so belated,
Demanding our aid since we might be related?"

Then Mhaldor's dark streets were filled with rare laughter.
Scorn for this coward dripped from every rafter.
"This man is a Monk, and a Horkval I see -
The hardiest race that a person can be.
And yet, some vague sentiment wrought by a Bard
Hath panicked this man, and panicked him hard.

We are a clan of respecters of Strength.
To further this cause, we'll exceed any length.
Blasphemers, mockers, the weak we'll cut down,
Avenging to hells any slight to our town.
But this fear of Monk's borne of fictional slurs -
We'll not raise a finger for cowardly curs."

So Monk found his mania quite unprotected.
His slanders, complaints, and appeals laid neglected.
No powerful aid, no vic'try to gloat,
No nurturing girl stuck her tongue down his throat.
His plans lay in ruin, so what could he do?
"There's only one course that a man can pursue."

He limbered his limbs. He knuckled his knucks.
He practiced his Kai choke on threatening ducks.
"It hath come to this. I'd hoped to avoid
This path to resolve this foul Bard I've annoyed.
But now, with true union of Body and Mind..."

He ran for the hills, other orchards to find.