The Sisters Three

Following a roleplaying event ran by a guild-member. I found the story haunting (pun not intended), and I really hope one of my musician friends will one day grace it with music. It's also been very nice to rhyme again after so long. From January 4th, 2015.

The Sisters Three

In Stormwind’s graveyard spirits rise
with voices mute and hollow eyes
to call for help, and none will hear
the ghostly plea, but one dead ear;
the Ebon Knight embraced the cries
of Graves of Old.

The tortured spirits told the tale:
a warlock’s dark, unholy spell,
corrupting three pure sisters’ souls -
with foul deceit their hearts he stole;
And now in shadows they will dwell
by Graves of Old.

Not long ago their live feet walked
upon the land’s green hills, they talked
of love and faith, and now they haunt
The Graves of Old.

The tombs were cleansed, the spirits roared
when, raging, came the Scarab lord,
corruption’s source, the sisters’ bane
arose to smite all hope again
by Graves of Old.

Then gushing waves of darkness spread
from out his hand among the dead
and all hearts sank but one, for lo,
a pure hand wields the Sacred Bow -
An arrow’s light where no hope treads,
in Graves of Old.

The sisters Swordsong were set free.
Farewell, Veleria, sweet Vivi,
Farewell Verisa; no more rage,
to keep you in the warlock’s cage.
You’ll live in song and memory -
The story of the Sisters Three
will be remembered, ever told
in Stormwind, on the Graves of Old.

Hallows End song composed by Erik Gudmundson

The musician I used to collaborate with - that is, she'd do the music part, and I'd do the lyrics part, and I'd end up being as hyped and as happy as a tree full of monkeys on LSD - well, we haven't worked together for a while, which means no LSD monkeys and much bummer, but then I bumped into Erik again; there's some nice stuff to check out in his page, and he was happy to compose the Hallows End poem, which made me quite happy. So here it is.

Another Lordaeron song

...Because any excuse is good for rhyming.

For years, rainy plagues drench this kingdom of old In her barren hills the lights no longer shine The royal halls hollow, the banners grow mold No hope to be found under her silver pines. The people were scattered, and each to his own Sought forgiveness, or refuge, south of the Dam With prayer or with zeal, a tear or a moan They yearned, and let go of that country twice-damned. Where the buildings still burn they will set foot no more For memories burn worse than flames, deep at night; And scattered they fell, for no kingdom will soar With its knights far away, bearing no hope alight. But times are a-changing; and gathering round Were the knights and the squires, taking the line; Obligation, defiance, are once again crowned – This crown might be bloody, but this blood – it's mine.

Hallow's End ballad

This is by my character, who grew up in Stratholme, and every Hollow's End she sees Genn Graymane light the wicker man, while in Lordaeron's Capital City the Forsaken celebrate their freedom - where once Arthas and Jaina lit the fires. Angsty poems are always fun to write! I only wish I had the ability to compose music to this one.

Where once the yard was fair with light Of all our burning woes The bony remnants, those we fight, Defile wicker's glow. For there were times where princes stood To set that straw aflame; Now corpses lurk where royals would – Our courtyard wearing shame. I'll set the twigs alight for you, And watch the golden flicker, Devour hope instead of sin Upon the burning wicker. For dreams have died like summer, but Festivities live on With every sprig I toss, I shut My eyes for Lordaeron.

Spinesword's Northrend Ballad

The 'request a poem' gig started in Age Of Conan, where my character was a bard. The deal was as such: I'm given a general topic, a few words the client chooses, and five minutes; they get a poem. I've had very little chance to do this in Warcraft, perhaps because the crowd is less mature, but last night I got lucky.

The guy was called Spinesword and he chose the beauty of Northrend as a topic, which leads me to apologizing for having two depressing Northrend poems so close to each other. Apart from that it's pretty much the usual, and I only wish I had more excuses to do this.

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Spinesword's Northrend Ballad


The land of snows drunk blood galore,
its treasures - none remains;
And still there's magic sights and more
Along the whitened plains.

For Stormy Peaks shine bright with stars
And Sholazar gleams green
the Fjord still howls its windy call,
and Dragonblight's serene.

Of all those wonders, none compares
to human courage's shine;
Tonight I drink for Northrend, and
the sword which is its spine.

Shiny Bad quicky Scarlet Armory battle hymn

So we three-man the Scarlet Armory, because instances are piss-easy since Cataclysm; we're about two levels lower than we should be - the mobs are red for us lol - but at least it's a bit of a challenge, and fun - or, as we call it, FNU. 

This trio is called "Shiny Bad" - that pretty much sums up most of the boss tactics all around wow - and I know this poem sounds like a pitiful rerun of the Zul Gurub Cauldron Song, but I only had five minutes to write it, seeing as Switz said, after one scary pull that got us all screaming, "Oh, Bell, you have to write a poem with 'Scarlets to the left and Scarlets to the right' in it," and my ego replied "gimmie five minutes" and got me into this mess. So there.

* * *

Scarlets to the left and Scarlets to the right

There's foxes, hammers, arrows, bloodhounds

Bashing shields and Light

There's glovy gloves and books galore, the healer is a nun

It's just a Scarlet Monastery, Shiny-Baddy run.

We tank the Houndlord round and round the central courtyard, for

The mana is all gone and there is damage still galore

The pet just pulled three more groups and we're not sure we'll come through

But oh, who minds? it's good XP, and after all, it's FNU.

So in we go again, repaired, and face those Scarlets' blame

"You carry taint of we-don't-care, we'll kill you in Light's name!"

And kill there is, but theirs, not ours, for we rock, and tonight

There's piles of corpses all around, dead Scarlets, left and right!

She sounds like cuddles

This is not, strictly speaking, a wow-poem. Attached is the convo that ignited it, and I'm revising it a bit to make it more Wowetry and less Sillytry, and oh, I'll stop now.

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Your char just died? Your back goes ouch? You don't know what to say?

Use Kally's gig, arms in the air: just flail and squeal like YAY.

There's many cynicals around, and glum's the fashion, ey?

But Kally's path is better, hear? You flail and squeal like YAY!

The raid blew up? Your new tank sucks? You facepalmed all the way?

Just Kally-ho around it all, just flail and squeal, like YAY!

Some people think that angst is cool. That's fine with me, okay.

But Kally sounds like cuddles, and she flails and squeals, like, YAY!

So if I'm down, my face afrown, and comfort's all away

I log in, say hi, hear her glee, and then my heart goes – Yay. 

The Snow Between The Trenches

Martin and Allen, two marines, are drinking themselves stupid and sharing stories. Allen asks for a happy memory, and is surprised when Martin states "Northrend"; then he tells her this one, and she both laughs and cries, and promises to compose it into a poem.

I later found out that Martin's player based this on a real WWI story, which breaks my heart even more; I hope this poem, minuscule and silly though it may be, will serve as my tribute to those soldiers.
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The Snow Between The Trenches

In Northrend, Snowland, Winter Veil,

The night-storm calmed at last

And soldiers pray with faces pale

To ghosts of winter past.

The east – Alliance, blue and gold

Their ditch now filled with dead

At west – The horde, their voices hoarse

With battlecries unheard.

What is this one night we now share

With weapons in our clenches?

It's not mulled wine that colours red

The snow between the trenches.

An orc then stands with arms in air

His white flag tattered, stained

He walks towards Alliance's lair

Across the snowy plain.

A blue-gold envoy marches up

His weapons tight abrace

The orc kneels, smiling, stands and throws

A snowball at his face.

What is this one night we now share

With weapons in our clenches?

The red-green leaves are dead beneath

The snow between the trenches.

And so the night was bathed with joy

Of weapons laid aground

And hardy soldiers on both ends

Tossed snow balls all around.

At dawn, their faces pink with frost

Their grim-smiles speak goodbye

They trudge into their trenches lost,

To fight and then to die.

And morning's battle boils the field

With death's vile stenches

As dull-eyed heads roll, painting red

The snow between the trenches.

Zul Gurub Cauldron Song

Sometimes an instance run is just unlucky. You can attribute wiping to having a noob tank, or insufficient healer gear, or even just people not paying attention to shiny stuff on the ground in boss fights; but when the warlock's engineering boots proc and kill her in a crucial moment, well, you just have to admit Murphy is mooning you.

This was one such Zul Gurub run. 

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Eternal Spirit Zul Gurub Cauldron Song / June 23rd, 2011

Let's get some gear, there's heroics to do!
Eron's a-leading, and Hen's with us too,
We have Bira for kicks and Padmini will tank
And Jmbie, for filling that dps rank. 

We start with four wipes on Venoxis, the snake.
(At that point, it's clear there's some measures to take).
We Youtube the tacs and repeat with face-sad:
"Avoid all the green stuff, and shiny is bad." 

Troll cauldrons and raged voodoo chants from afar
Will not turn us back - we will soon face Hakkar!

More tactics! Venoxis is down, and we're clear
To dare take the challenge of great Mandokir:
He's back from the dead, and he now wants your head
(But you'll be ressurected by friendly Val'kyr).

Kilnara has cats on a ranged killing spree -
They pounce at your healer who's losing HP
And Eron is frothing and growling, for we
Do not interrupt that accursed AoE. 

Troll cauldrons and faint voodoo songs from afar
Will not turn us back, we will soon face Hakkar!

Cat-lady is down! And Hen is dead, too.
(you'd think we died more than enough now, would you?)
But no, it's not mobs, nor Kilnara indeed;
It's the engineer's boots whose vile proc did the deed. 

...We rez Henrietta (repair bills and all)
And hurry past crocs and the flame-spitting wall
It's getting quite late and we just want some fun;
Instead, what we get is another corpse run.

Troll cauldrons and raged voodoo chants from afar
Will not turn us back - we will soon face Hakkar!

"Enough!" (that's the leader, now slashing his wrists)
"We're here for the loot, not for laughing and kicks.
No kiting of drakes to no lifts, are we clear?
And... why is the tank dead again? I must hear."

"I thought they were you guys," the tank meeks with dread,
Pointing at three smirking trolls up ahead. 
"They had fancy gear and this guy's hair was red - 
I thought it was Bira, but he zerged me, instead."

Troll cauldrons and raged voodoo chants from afar
Will not turn us back - we will soon face Hakkar!

It's well past the end time, we wipe thrice or more
On Jin'do, whose chains, ghosts and shades we abhor
Then we wipe five more times and we know it's not long
Ere we'll have to revise our brave cauldron song.

Now the leader is grumpy, the rest - ill at ease,
The dps quiet, the tank cannot breathe
The armors are broken, the Spirit's not right 
"Eternal" our asses; we bid you goodnight. 

Winter Veil play, 2007

This one was played out during a Winter Veil 2007, on our RP server. The true challenge of writing it was sticking to RP server policy, aka not out-loud referring to game mechanics. It's based on Dickens' "A Christmas Carol";  was fun to write, fun to act, and I also hope it's a fun read.

Many thanks for my friends, who rehearsed and acted it out that year: Alastair, Kristin, Sebastian and Jonas.

---------------------------------------------
DRAMATIS PERSONAE


Sir Ebon-Nether Scourge, guild leader
Stella, guild member
The Spirit of Winter Veil
Chorus

---------------------------------------------

CHORUS

Winter Veil's merriment was in the air

With snowballs and reindeer and eggnog to spare

And the guild called "The Dragons" sat by the Veil tree

The presents all piled up – what joy it would be!

But little they knew that no good could emerge

From the Lord of their guild, sir Ebon-Nether Scourge…

STELLA

Good evening, my Guild Lord! Well met and good tides!

How like you this [Gleaming Blue Sword] by my side?

I got it for you, for this Winter Veil fest -

With a dragon-shaped pommel, to match the guild crest!

SCOURGE

That's sweet of you, Stella. Here's my gift for you;

I wish you a holiday merry and true.

STELLA

Why, thank you, my guild lord! Allow me, perhaps, 

To ponder the wonder therein, under wraps?

Will it be a dagger, its blade shining green?

A fancy new crossbow? A flying machine?

Here, I pull off the wrapping! The gift is revealed!

*cough* …Oh jolly… you brought me …a [Rusty Grey Shield]…?

CHORUS

And so it went on – each guild member's loot

Was a [Flimsy Chain Girdle] or a [Worn Leather Boot],

And everyone raged when under his wrapper

Holly the Druid found a [1 Pound Mud Snapper]…

…The party was over, and with hurried pace

The guild members stormed off, deserting the place

And Sir Ebon Scourge lay awake, lone and dreary

For sleep would not come; no rest for the weary.

SCOURGE

Surrounded by gifts, yet I can't rest my head –

Wait! What is that shade creeping under my bed?!

SPIRIT

I am the Spirit of the Veil - 

a boring job, the paycheck's frail -

And yet I'm here to offer you

The Special Winter Veil Re-Do!

For, Ebon Scourge, the time has come

To yank the broomstick from your bum.

You weren't always like this, right?

How did your backside grow so tight?

I'm here to give you one last chance.

This was your life – come, take a glance.

It was in Elwynn, right by Hogger

You gave up that bright-green dagger

For the rogue who needed it –

'Twas generous, you must admit.

SCOURGE

It was indeed! She thanked me much.

In honest, I was deeply touched

When later, there, behind a chest

She let me fondle her right br---

SPIRIT

*coughs loudly*

And here in Gnomereghan, recall,

Those purple boots you passed, for all 

The others in the group who pleaded

That's the bit of gear they needed…

Sir Ebon Scourge, you used to SMILE!

Oh, when did you become so vile?

SCOURGE

You know I'm a paladin, right? So it's vital

For me to be nasty; it goes with the title.

SPIRIT

Oh, hush. I'd hoped you would be wiser;

The armour won't create the miser.

(It's true, however, I am told

In bed their weapons never hold).

But anyway! We must proceed.

In Zul Gurub… that epic steed…

You asked permission for a roll –

Oh, good Sir Scourge… Was that your fall?

SCOURGE

*snarls*

That steed was mine, you hear? Was MINE!

I gave up so much all the time -

they promised me I'd win that beast –

But No! They gave it to the PRIEST!

[/cry]

SPIRIT

I feel your pain. Now stop your whining.

I did not come to hear you pining.

I'm here to show you where you'll end

If you refuse to make amends.

See here; this vision I now summon – 

Oh! It's you! fighting a dragon!

SCOURGE

…And beside me – By the Light!

Who is this, that stranger knight?

And the priest? I know her not –

 And the rogue's an idiot…

The sapped is woken by the mage

The shackled breaks its holy cage,

This group is bad, I know the type

There's no way to avoid a w-

SPIRIT

I said, stop your whining! Your balls I'll unplug!

Such people are Pain Under Gain, or a PUG. 

This is your future, unless you transform

Into someone more generous - giving, kind, warm.

And now I will leave you; you tire me so;

There's a man down in Ironforge to which I must go

They tell me that ikzjjxjhgkhd he is called –

I'll rip out his guts, for he is selling gold.

Chin up, good sir Scourge! Your nightmare won't last;

The future awaits – stop living in the past.

CHOROS

The following morning, Scourge rushed out of bed;

And went to the Plaguelands, and slaughtered undead; 

He came back that evening with blood on his hood

And begged for his guild to show up, if they would.

STELLA

*coldly*

Hello Sir. Don't tell me, I know on my own:

Perhaps you'll now give me a grey [Lifeless Stone]?

SCOURGE

Not a stone, no, dear Stella, if I may but flutter

I daresay my gift might be just a bit better.

STELLA

Oh fine, let me have it. Can't say that I care.

Here, I take off the paper… is that steel shining there?

…

Oh, guild lord – that weapon – it is no mere stinger…

It's no stone indeed – it is the [Ashbringer]!

CHORUS

Together they drank Winter ale with their friends;

With Scourge's new gifts, all the hearts did expand.

And what happened then? In The Dragons they say

That Scourge's tight heart grew three sizes that day!