As Lathander rises to shine upon Arabel and herald another dawn, a song begins to spread throughout the city. From the most seedy taverns of the back alleys, to even the Falcons rest, the song is heard - sung by a dark clad musician, with nothing but an ivory flute to accompany his song. Whenever he finishes the song, a small pouch of gold is left with the tavern master or inn keeper, ensuring the next round is on him.
When the Eight came to Asram!
Beneath the cold and jagged peaks, where shadows writhe in gnollish lair,
A pack of beasts in numbers vast had claimed the ruins, foul and rare.
Yet eight arose, with blade and spell, their hearts united, burning bright,
To tear apart the gnolls’ foul grasp and cast them back into the night.
One led the way, the winds her kin, a gaze as sharp as any blade,
She saw the paths no beast could hide, where traps were laid, and plans were made.
With air’s own grace and iron will, she marked the way for all to tread,
Through cunning ploys and battle’s din, her guidance paved where victory led.
One stood with sword in steadfast hand, a soul unbent, her strikes were sure,
Her humor sharp as steel she bore, her stance unbroken, cold and pure.
Through fire’s rage and shadowed claws, she faced the pack’s accursed kin,
And with a final, fateful blow, she brought their leader’s reign to end.
One struck with coils, snapping true, her dance a fury hard to tame,
With serpent’s grace and boundless skill, no gnoll could counter or outflame.
Her voice a hymn to chaos sung, her whips a song of biting pain,
She carved a path through gnollish wrath, her fury leaving naught to gain.
One raised a sword in sacred might, his elven prayers shattered the dark,
Through his resolve, the pack was dimmed, their feral hate reduced to sparks.
With holy steel, his strikes rang clear, a bane to all who dared draw near,
And in his wake, the light endured, where shadows fled and fear grew sheer.
One wielded spells like silver fire, her spear and magic danced as one,
Her voice a hymn of moonlit wrath, her faith to the Maiden, a bond was born.
Through icy nights and blazing halls, she wove her spells with nimble hand,
And every cast left echoes deep, her radiance seared the tainted land.
One crept in shadows, cold and sly, his fey-born blood both sharp and still,
Through icy glances, silent strikes, his eyes bore winter’s bitter chill.
But fire rose against the frost, and when its searing flame drew near,
Even he, though fierce, was made to falter, driven back by gnollish sneer.
One bound the beasts with spells of mind, their savage wills bent to her hand,
With subtle power and cunning thought, she turned their chaos, fierce and grand.
Their claws now raked their brethren’s hides, their rage consumed their twisted kin,
Her artful magic wove the thread that unraveled the pack within.
And one who sang of blade and song, a minstrel’s charm, a warrior’s fire,
Who faced the fray with steely grace, his strikes alive with notes inspired.
Though gnollish hex turned flesh to feathers, his will stood firm despite the jest,
A chicken’s form could not dissuade the bard whose courage swelled his chest.
Through tunnels deep and halls defiled, the Eight devised their clever schemes,
With smoking powders, traps well-laid, and daring plans beyond mere dreams.
No beast could hold where they advanced, no wall could halt their steady stride,
And when the Stonelands’ sun arose, the gnolls were scattered, slain, or died.
Their deeds endure in tales retold, by fires warm and winter’s breath,
The Eight who fought in Asrams shadows, fought through cunning, blood, and death.
And though some may crow of triumph, this song still sings their bonds as whole,
In Asram’s shadow, The eight brought down, a small army of gnolls!
@Latoksinned @TheMinionOfArabel @V-Rage @Zolm @TuesdayParade @EyeOfGruumsh @Erebus @The-Z-master