A Poem

[Icarusvogel]

True. Any way around it? I though a long time about that line.

EDIT:
I have it!
A great paladin rode
To the dragon's lair
With sword and lance and mare
But alas! Fire-proof underwear
Our hero greatly lacked
The dragon gave him fourteen-four
And killed him in the act.

Better that way?

[revenant]

Great! Btw what does he lack, thermal underwear?

[Icarusvogel]

Yes. To give him 70% fire resistance.

[Zerovirus]

That one about the Pally is a weird rhyme scheme. ABBBCDC?

Once I had this Thunderer
I custom named him Bond
Cuz' he gets headshots with nay any blunders
(So what if it's a shotgun?)

But one day, A skeleton showed
And the recruits screamed such terror!
And even Bond's bullets stopped not its throes,
This must be some sort of an error!

But alas for him, it was truly not.
The unholy blight had long been dead.
And well served was the creature's rot,
For it's weak point was no longer in its head.

Bond spun back and shot again
But unfortunate was that decision.
As he felt his life leaving him
I simply reloaded the mission.

A skeleton archer at night
Is not to be taken trite.
He makes the bravest of men fly
And the finest of your recruits die.

(I had a thunderer about to level up. There was a skeleton archer with 7 HP left at night. My thunderer was almost dead too, but one more kill... He missed and died.)

[Icarusvogel]

Wierd ryhme sheme again, but still a good poem.
Though the first verse seems a little strange to me.

[revenant]

Yes. To give him 70% fire resistance.

I thought it would be 70% cold resistance.

[Frogger5]

(Rolls eyes at terrible joke)

[Icarusvogel]

Well, actually it isn't thermal underwear in the poem, but fire-proof underewear, but-

8-4 is not enough, my lad
It really makes me sad
To see the Swordsmen being slain
Fighting against Orcs in vain
But a Royal Guard will slay
Any roaming Orc, but hey
M'lad, please heed my words
Experience is hard to gain.

I knocked that up in 2 minutes.

[Icarusvogel]

Somehow, I'm bored, so-

The mages sad around and whined
Their death was coming soon
A lich, of surely no sane mind
Cast spells at them at noon
But alas! A mage is lawful
And an evil lich is not
The mages 7-3ed the lich
And so his bones now rot.

Nearly as bad as the last...

[revenant]

I assume that sad in the first line is supposed to be sat. Oh and lines four and six seem like they're missing a syllable. Nice though.

[Icarusvogel]

Nice? Oh well , that took about 2 minutes.
I see that lines 4/6 needs to be edited. And that spelling mistake must be re-spelled.

EDIT: Better?

The mages sat around and whined
Their deaths were coming soon
A lich, of surely no sane mind
Cast spells at them at noon
But alas! A mage is lawful
And an evil lich is not
The mages 7-3ed the lich
And so his bones now rot.

[revenant]

The mages sad around and whined
Their death was coming soon

''Sad is still there. And their death was coming soon is not proper grammar, I would say ''their deaths were coming soon''. Still the same amount of syllables yet more accurate.

[Icarusvogel]

True...

[Icarusvogel]

The campaign "Liberty" inspired me to write this (Down with the Loys):

"In the name of Weldyn", when they broke down the door;
"In the name of Weldyn", when we grovelled on the floor;
"In the name of Weldyn", when they set the house alight;
"In the name of Weldyn", when we took to flight.

"In the name of Weldyn", when they started the fight;
"In the name of Weldyn", when they crushed us with their might;
"In the name of Weldyn", as a universal key;
"In the name of Weldyn", oh, how I loath thee!

"In the name of Weldyn",
They cried
And the world
Burned.

[Seylamander]

An adept went to the nearest town,
To go cast some of his Ice Waves.
After a night of casting spells,
There were skeletons rising from graves.

On and on went the adept's work,
Resurrection was his ardor.
Alas, alas, this only made
Peasant life even harder.

One day, a knight, so brave and bold,
And quite a good tactician,
Made a move to end for good
The quest of the magician.

He amassed himself a motley crew.
A force with which to be reckoned.
The adept looked on from a hill,
And to his minions beckoned.

He raced his forces down the hill,
To meet the opposing knight.
But saw his forces gathered there,
In all their motley might.

But nevertheless he fought them,
Crashing into the mob.
But he was dead within an hour,
A javelin in his gob!

To take note from this sorry tale,
Bout' a practice most condemn.
Practice not with the walking dead,
Lest you join as one of them!