(( Every week or so I try to include a player-written book here on my web site, one that I’ve got gathered in my Norrathian museum. You can donate books to me on the Antonia Bayle server, and I’ll send you a blank book or cash in return for helping me out. If you’d like to visit the museum in person, head to the North Freeport Mage tower, bottom floor where the magical housing is, under the name of Ellithia. ))
Ode to the Badger: A Miner’s Tale – By Llamo
I grab my pick and head for the hills,
to gather metals to pay my bills.
Feet hitting the grass and the sun in my face,
I know that I’m in the right place.I look out and about far and wide,
to spot those nodes where they may hide.
I see one, tiny little grey lump,
I run up and chip off a little bump.Horray! I found a bit of ore,
I must keep going to find some more.
One node, two nodes, three,
I am finding metal everywhere I can see.Alas, the day grows long,
the amount I’ve gathered worthy of song.
My bag is heavy and my strength grows short,
I’m thinking it’s time for a port.I begin to cast a spell to return home,
I then spot another node all alone.
I check my bag and yes, there’s room,
I charge off for riches are soon.With revived vigor, I raise my pick,
downward I thrust and the pick does stick.
This was different, I did not hear the usual sound,
I look down and yes, the object was indeed round.It was grey small and stayed in place,
this little node was not the usual case.
The node began to bleed,
my pants I almost peed.The node had a head and looked up at me,
It let out a scream and tried to bite my knee.
I pulled up on my pick but it would not give,
blood was leaking like water through a sive.I think my pick was lodged in it’s spine,
I paniced and said, “All is fine.”
It was enraged with the pick in his spine,
I held onto my pick for it was mine.It lept forth and bit my ore filled sack,
I grabed it and pulled it back.
A hole tore open and my ore hit the floor,
wrath filled my soul and I let out a roar.I made up my mind this would end now,
I needed the coin that ore would endow.
Reaching out I grabed my pick,
I laughed as a person whose mind was sick.My foot was then pressed on the back of it’s neck,
freeing my pick I said, “What the heck.”
Gripping my pick tight, I gave it a thrust,
through the back and out the bust.The scream was horrible, it was going to die,
with rage I yelled out, “Tonight, Badger Pie!”
Screaming mixed with snapping bones,
shortly quieting down to simple moans.I gave it one last strike,
from my pick and the tip of the spike.
It was then dead and the struggle came to an end,
I felt calm for my ore I did defend.I gathered up my ore from the ground,
thinking about the badger I did pound.
The ground was mushed into mud,
from all the thrashing and wet with blood.I cleaned off my bits of ore,
vowing this would happen no more.
Oh what a stupid badger that was,
all squishy and covered in fuzz.Why would nature play such an evil trick?
If this was meant to be, why is she all so sick?
I stay up at night wondering about these,
Nature is suppose to be sweet, about the birds and the bees.What a twisted sick wench she has to be,
to play such a trick on me.
To make badgers look like an ore node
ones you see along the Antonican road.No doubt this will happen a second time,
now I coat my pick with posionous slime.
Next time my pick hits something alive,
it won’t be like kicking over a bee hive.O’ badger who’s life I did snuff into death,
you strugged with your very last breath.
I write this tale to honor your soul,
but you may have lived if you didn’t tear open that hole!