By Gnitt Gnatticken
Once upon a midnight clear, while I hunted, full of
fear,
Through a lonely forest chock-full of insects, gloom, and dismay.
As I stumbled, nearly tripping, suddenly there came a nipping,
As of some one slowly ripping, ripping my silken trousers away.
"T'is some insect," I muttered, "stripping my pants away-
Bugs seem bigger these days."
Ah, distinctly I recall it was in the early fall,
For a lovely new set of armor and shield I had received.
Eagerly I wished for day, for certainly I'd lost my way,
And swore I did to ne'er stray, stray away on Autumn eves.
I can see it now, headline reads, 'Halfling Lost! Parent's Greive!'
Mommy told me not to leave.
All too soon my guts returned, as once again my
senses burned,
"Bug," said I, "or beast whate'er you be, step into the light;
You think you can go ripping, and on my bum you can go nipping,
But my clothes are not for stripping, stripping in the dead of night.
So best now, you close your mouth and come into my sight.
'Cause I'm ready for this fight!"
Deep into that forest staring, long I stood there
almost daring,
That little bug to step forth so his little buggy eyes I could squish.
But probably was better, lest that bug be someone's pet, or,
My pants might just get wetter, wetter than the wettest fish,
"Ok," I said, "I may just grant you this one little wish.
You're little life I'll not extinguish."
And towards my home I retreated, afterall, my foe
defeated,
What else could I possibly conquer before the break of day?
And, as I walked, nearly skipping, suddenly there came a nipping,
As of someone forcefully ripping, ripping my pants away.
Then distinctly in the night I heard a bleating voice say,
"Fa-a-a-at Boy, Go-o-o-o Away."
With amazing cat-like speed, I flew into the nearest
tree,
and did not stop at all until the branches all ran out.
"What gives" I yell into the night, "to give my soul such awful fright,
To send me to this awful height, where branches aren't quite so stout?"
I paused at this, for perhaps an answer he might shout.
But alas, no reply called out.
And as I slithered slowly down, wishing I could fly
to town,
Realizing only then that my silken trousers lay upon the ground.
Into the skies I said a prayer, and thanked the gods I had on underwear,
But wishing for a cleaner pair, as I leapt onto the ground.
"Oh, Toothy Bug," I said aloud, "I'll grant you this one round."
But all was silent, not a sound.
So I searched about the shrubs, hoping to find this
l'il grub,
Retrieve my pants, and wring his little buggy neck so mercilessly.
But alas I was mistaken, and my faith again was shaken,
and scampering I went quakin', quakin' up the nearest tree.
"I was kidding!" I yelled. "I really like buggies!"
Only laughter below, "Hee Hee Hee"
It was no bug, I'm positive, t'was the baddest sheep
that e'er lived,
Scrambling ever higher until at last I clutched the very highest twig.
In the morning air I coughed, clutching vainly trying to stay aloft,
Suddenly, hoping for something soft, soft and not so mean and big,
"I killed Art, I killed Berr." the voice said. "And now for you, little
pig."
Boy, I sure wish I was big.
Quickly to my feet I leapt, and to my sheath my hand
I swept,
There I stood before this beast and screamed with all my might.
"Is that you're very, very best? And are you ready for my test?"
And lest he answer to this quest, I fled into the night.
I streaked by trees and garden walls and left him outta sight.
Beasts, I flee; Bugs I fight.
Perhaps, I'll take him another night.
The End
By Selenthra Lyron
Oh, the sights one sees as one wanders through this great midden-heap of what passes for polite society in Elanthia. Dear Reader, we have witnessed things that would curl a halfling's toehairs, if they were not already so. We have taken it upon ourselves to reveal to some of you the rot that pervades this great land and shall do our best to rip it out when we may.
Public nudity, for instance, is apparently as common as crumbs in a
dwarf's beard. A certain spoony bard (we never name names, of course, but his is quite
famous in more than one land) was recently spied trying to hide his clef and two notes
behind a branch of the oak tree in the very center of town; we overheard that he had lost
all his clothing in a bad dart wager with a sorceress. [A note, dear Reader---never play
darts with a woman who knows Guidance...and if you do, keep your pants on.]
We assumed that this was an unusual occurence, but no, we heard reports that the crowd in the treehouse was already suffered to witness one sloppy plump thief, naked as a jay, the wife of a sorcerer whom she claims does not "let" her wear clothes. One must speculate where she keeps the silvers she steals, as she has no pockets. My source did note that her cheeks seemed puffy...was it water retention or some poor wretch's life savings?
It seems it is not only the young or the impoverished who are running about in the altogether. Not a few months ago, a reputedly "Legendary", yet oft-dead wizard whom all know and loathe was killed instantly as he rushed from the Golden Helm Inn on Teras Isle without his armor or boots. It's rumored that he had been struck with the urge to hunt during a dalliance with a dwarven woman whom he allegedly bought with cheap ale and cigars. More shocking still, we have it on good authority that he still had a beard-clipper in his hand as he went off to battle. The soul shivers at the thought of what they were up to.
We could go on to tell you of the man who celebrated his marriage to himself by strolling through the Landing nude and asking strangers if they found him attractive, or of the warrior who was sighted wrestling orcs while wearing nothing but an iron cooking pot and a tattered sack, or of games of Thumbfumble that (it is whispered) are played by people of low virtue in the back rooms of Helga's tavern. But we do not wish to offend your sensibilities still further, dear Reader. We only wish to point out the moral laxity into which some of us have let ourselves fall.
Enough, we say! Even the Lord Kai no longer requires his wrestlers to be oiled and nude for battle. We are no prudes, but the blessings of Ivas are meant to be secret, not paraded about like pennons during a tournament (and trust us when we say that some of these should be hidden and not flown proudly). We would ask that you, good Reader, carry with you at all times a spare robe or pair of trousers to give to those lewd individuals who eschew clothing while in public places. Let us bring an end to this disgrace, for these are disgraceful ends indeed.