Most people in Faerûn liked freedom a lot,
The Dead Three and their Chosen, the bards say, did not.
They wanted to murder, creative and cruel:
They wanted the dead and the undead, like ghouls:
They wanted confusion, the town upside down,
So they’d seize command with a fierce tyrant’s crown.
This, you might say, could rightly be treason,
But they didn’t care. No one quite knows the reason.
Old General Thorm, who stood for the dead,
Was hating and frowning at Orin the Red:
While Gortash clicked his gauntleted hand
And “Enough!” he cried. “Do you understand?
“We MUST plot and scheme! We MUST think – and quick!
“We have to come up with some clever trick!
“The people need ruling, and killing, and such –
“Any more of this freedom is simply too much.”
Then he got an idea! An awful idea!
GORTASH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
“I know just what to do!” he snarled with a sneer:
“We’ll make a new god, and we’ll fill them with fear!
“We’ll get a big brain, all squishy and wet,
“We’ll put worms in their heads, and just watch them fret
“As the brain in the hat gives commands, they obey:
“And then I’ll ride in to rescue the day!”
There was more of the plan for Orin and Thorm,
A false army to lead, and sly changes of form –
But Gortash, the hero, had the best role to play,
And grew bolder and gloatier each passing day.
But down by the river, which he didn’t guess,
Adventuring people had got in a mess.
They had swords, they had spells, they had hidden chains,
They had hard-won friendship, they had worms in their brains.
They had a withered old man on their side,
And a ghaik in a prism who served them as guide.
They came to the Towers, all shadow-cursed dark,
And they killed off old Thorm, midst panic and snark.
“That’s bad,” Gortash thought, “Though I’ve never liked him,
“Our chance of success just got slightly more slim-
“Orin, my dear, you’d best kidnap one.”
“Oh goody,” she said. “This will be fun!”
But her temple was pillaged and her victim freed
And Chosen or not, it was her turn to bleed.
The adventurers turned their steps towards the place
Which Gortash had made into his fortified base.
“He’s crowned himself Archduke, so he must be rich
“We’ve emptied our invent’ries, let’s loot this bitch.”
They grinned and they smirked with sinister pleasure
They slunk ‘round the fortress and they stole all the treasure!
They took the cheese wedges, they took the clam chowder,
They stole eighteen potions and all the rune powder!
The pears, grapes and apples went into their sacks,
Along with two shields and an enchanted axe.
They grabbed up the gems, and what’s even colder,
They took the roast rothé, the boiled beholder!
They gathered the beer, the ale, and the wine,
When they heard a small sound, like the grunting of swine.
They turned around fast, and saw in the door
Gortash was leaning, with five guards or more.
“Hello,” that Gortash most charmingly said,
“You’ve got pretty far, but soon you’ll be dead.”
But despite all the traps, the guards, spells and fire,
The gallant adventurers quick made him a liar.
As he lay on the flagstones, bleeding, out-fought,
He was hazily thinking a vague final thought:
“Maybe my plan went somewhat astray,
“And freedom’s the friends we made on the way?”
And what happened then? Well, the adventurers say
Gortash’s small heart stopped completely that day,
Then they gathered his clothes, his weapons and glove,
And into the chimney he went with a shove!
Then back at their camp, as soon as it suited,
They laid out a table with the good things they’d looted!
They toasted each other and the good cheer they’d found,
A merry and jolly and earth-shaking sound!
Tomorrow would come, and it might well bring pain:
They still had the worms and the ghaik and the brain,
But tonight they’d rejoice and forget all that bother,
And the withered old bone man carved the roast rothé!
