At the entrance of the fallen obelisk,
the Silver Knights were under siege:
an electric cloud creature had wandered in
shocking the party with its tentacle attacks.
Fire, slash, shoot, whack, stab, hack—
the party valiantly chipped away
at the awesome armor of the floating foe.
Elre summoned his magical stallion
and challenged the monster by charging
while Adoril cast a spell to deliver distant blows.
Marcus meekly scurried from the skirmish
moaning because Kai commandeered a bow,
and burly Tavin had been thwarted
because a dwarf can’t wound what he can’t reach.
Vallen was vexed using his magic to heal,
so alas, a fireball could not be fashioned.
But finally, Kai fired a pair of arrows
that pierced the viscera of the villain
whose body then plopped on the platform
and leaked its lifeforce, leaving a sparkly pool.
The party then wanted to finish their rest,
but the ziggurat was sullied with slime,
so Tavin tried to summon water to wash the stone,
but failed his cast and became further fatigued.
As the party rested, eagle-eyed Elre stood watch.
He perched on top of the wicked ruins,
scanning all directions for possible peril.
Suddenly, Marie arose from her sleep,
the pretty potion maker was unsettled.
“What’s wrong?” Elre enquired.
“Don’t you hear the damned drums?” Marie asked.
The wicked witching hour had begun,
and Marie was being silently summoned.
“Elre, I made an important promise
to complete a weighty ritual,
so I need to go at once to the sunken temple!”
“Don’t worry, Marie. I will transport you there.”
Then Elre summoned his swift steed,
and they raced over the baneful bayou.
While Marie clung closely to the resolute ranger,
Marcus was murmuring in his sleep
about min-maxing and murdering minors
but was awakening by the thud of Tavin’s toe.
“Wakey-wakey, Marky Marcus. Elre needs us.”
Then the dwarf dove from the platform
and swam into the swampy water,
leaving Marcus to bitterly mutter,
“Why does Elre get to escort the damsel?”
At the temple, Marie performed the ritual,
and the rest of the party finally followed.
Tavin in merman form emerged from the marsh,
Marcus leapt across the bog with his mystic boots,
and Adoril guided the canoes to the rendezvous.
Now it was opportune to descend down
the water-filled shaft at the shattered obelisk.
Down Tavin dove—the party peered into the pit—
but soon he arose, battered and gasping.
“Those damned darklings are waiting down there!”
Uncertain what to do, the party called up Olene,
but she was no use, so Adoril dashed the scrying dish.
There was no other option, so Adoril, Tavin and Vallen
valiantly dropped down into the sunken nest.
Adoril was the first to swiftly sink
and put the hearthstone on the bottom.
Tavin and Vellen entered the enchanted air bubble
as the darklings initiated an encounter.
Parry, dodge, hack, block, slash, heal—
the trio traded blows with the cavern creatures
who were eventually eviscerated,
allowing the party to access the underground.
With the darklings dispatched, the party could proceed
to find the lost orb of the Silver Order.
The Silver Knights tiptoed down the tunnel
surrounded by their enchanted bubble.
Jeff was tasked with dragging the hearthstone
that surrounded the band with a sphere of air.
The knights explored the underwater warren,
sifting through the silt and debris,
investigating the long-sunken machinery.
Unexpectedly, Elre identified an object
and studied it with his danger sense.
Nothing detected, so he picked up the orb
and was suddenly drawn into a vision:
From inside a glacier, an ancient evil uttered,
“I see you!” Then the bubble became frigid,
and party could see the wisps of their breath.
Wishing to withdraw from the grievous vault,
The party hurriedly headed out.
But not before Adoril pried out a power crystal,
and became deaf and blind by the endeavor.
However, not all was hazard in the flooded hollow,
for mischievous Marcus encountered a cloth,
that stretched out like serpent, motioning for his help.
He heeded its call and now has a magical sash
that acts as an added arm. And if he’s ever in the loo
with no paper, he has something to wipe his arse.
Little bit of context: One of my hobbies in Doha is a bi-weekly RPG campaign. Every two weeks, a group of expats gets together — usually at my apartment — and role-plays using the GURPS system. I used to play Dungeons and Dragons when I was high school but hadn’t role-played in about two decades. Then I moved to Doha, was amenable to new activities in order to meet people, and was invited to join my current RPG group. If you would like to read about the inner workings of my group’s world and campaign, please visit the webpage of the GM.
Little more context: So, lately, members of the group have taken turns writing a journal entry of the events during a campaign session. During the previous session, it was my turn. In order to challenge myself a little bit, I decided to write the entry in a genre (that I invented) from my character’s Elvish culture (Krendiri). The conventions of the genre are loosely informed by Old English alliterative verse, hence the heavy use of repeated consonant sounds in
each line most lines of the poem. This GURPS poem is like the Inception of nerdiness, but it was a fun writing exercise for me, so enjoy!