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A Tale of Tragedy: Child of the Sea
by Ritchie Lorenfall

Long ago on a sea swept shore
In long forgotten days of religious lore,
A child did weep softly and alone,
Sunburned and soaked to the bone.

Though not far away was an aged monk
Sitting on a log and getting drunk,
But some of his wits he still did possess,
For his goal was yet without success.

From through the trees and down a hill,
A terrible cry did a child's lips spill,
And this the monk could not ignore,
For children did he most adore.

So down he rushed to the beach,
And for the child he did reach,
Then into his eyes the child did gaze,
Seeing the wisdom of his many days.

From there the child was at peace,
For his crying had begun to cease.
In the monk's robes he was wrapped,
And off they went as fast as apt.

To the monastery they did head--
A secret place with bricks of red.
There the monk did humbly request
That the child be given food and rest.

At this, there was much heated debate,
With secrecy against the child's fate,
But eventually compassion did win,
For killing the child would be a sin.

So there he grew and spent his early life,
Free from worry or day of strife.
The library became his sleeping place
And Elanthian history he did trace.

Behind a great waterfall nearby he would stay
And happily read great stories all day.
This became his secret spot,
Where he would sit and think a lot.

But his peaceful bliss was broken soon,
For one-day there was a great typhoon.
They saw it before it was too late
And suddenly he knew his fate.

He ran from the monastery toward the shore,
Knowing he must return to the sea once more.
But his Brothers he would not let it take,
So he stood before it and he spake:

"A long time ago you gave me to these men
And perhaps I must return to you again,
But them you must now leave be,
For all you came for is to take me."

But then the typhoon spouted water in distaste
And raced toward the monastery with great haste.
Before he could think of something to say,
His beloved friends and home were washed away.

Later the ruins he did roam,
Once more shivering and all alone,
But no trace of his friends was to be found,
So he sat and wept without a sound.

A Dwarven Fighting Song
by Samriah Lostforge

Hey, ugly orc,
Big, fat, ugly orc

If that orc is three foot three,
I'll be bringin' a knife with me.
If that orc is four foot four,
I'll be bringin' my short sword.

If that orc is five foot one,
I'll be bringin' my falchion.
If that orc is six foot four,
I'll be bringin' my claidhmore.

If that orc is seven foot tall,
I won't be messin' with him at all!

Hey, ugly orc,
Big, fat, ugly orc.

Love hurts
by Rontuu Whippert

He glanced around, he sighed a sigh, he muttered to himself
He kicked the ground, he rubbed his ears, and knew he was an elf
But where was he at? Who does he love? And what can he call himself?
And where should he go? And what could have happened, that he forget his own poor self...

So he looks around, he sees the sky, he observes that it is night
He sees a sword, he sees the blood, and knows a heart-felt fright
But there's a trail, it leads right on, dear Ronan what a sight
He takes a step, and takes three more, to cure this awful plight.

So soon it ends, he's at a door, he knocks and gives a pull
There's a muffled gasp, a startled curse, and a silence that's near a lull
The door opens, a figure appears, her lips are red and full
He says good evening, and asks her name, and complains of the ache in his skull.

She blinks twice quick, she stares at him, and utters but a sound
She introduces herself, and smiles a smile, and pets at her guardian hound
She turns around, invites him in, and has the urge to hit and pound
But she hides it all, gives him a seat, though her head spins round and round.

He accepts some food, he's deep in thought, he looks her up and down
He wracks his brain, and tries to recall, but all he can do is frown
So he shrugs it off, he trusts her full, and continuously stares straight down
But he feels a need, and looks at her, and asks for a ride to town.

She smiles so sweet, she nods her head, and says "Of course dear man."
She bites her lip, she opens the door, and rubs at her sweaty hand
He nods his head, he stretches out, he slowly takes a stand
He hugs her close, he whispers "Thanks", and knows that the world is grand.

So they take the trail, they walk right on, they slowly pass the time
She hums a tune, and taps a beat, and creates a little rhyme
He looks at her, he slightly stares, he knows she's in her prime
A thought occurs, the question hits, "Isn't she already mine?"

It all comes back, his love for her, he yells "Sylphina no!!!"
He turns so quick, he nearly falls, his duck is just to slow!!
The blow lands flat, it's path so true, the blood begins to flow...
She runs away, for the second time, her face and eyes aglow.

He lays so still, his breath so short, the time it seems to fly
He slowly awakens, he grasps his head, and nearly starts to cry
The cut is deep, the pain is hot, the light now floods the sky
He feels the wound, and notes to himself, his luck that he didn't die.

So he glances around, he sighs a sigh, he mutters to himself
He kicks the ground, he rubs his ears, and knows he is an elf
But where is he at? Who does he love? And what can he call himself?
And where should he go? And what could have happened, that he forget his own poor self...

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