His skin was white, and his body was weak
But what he lacked in strength and body mass
He made up for in knowledge of Wee Jas.
He warned the others about her powers
His truthful teaching went on for hours.
After he was done, the Pardoner said,
“You and I are brothers, my good friend!”
“Dear sir, are you accusing me of lies?
I swear to Vecna my words have no ties
They are free and true, Nerull strike me down.
You say we are brothers? To that I frown.”
There is no loyal a man than the geek.
Just ask the elves, orcs, or dwarves: they’ll shriek
And talk of his goodness and vast wisdom
Surpassing that of a silver dragon.
Even Erythnul will show him pardon
For his path has been chosen by Fharlanghn.
He is destined to help those most in need,
To spread the word and sew the seed
Of Gods and Goddesses seated most high,
Which can be hard, since he hardly sees sky.
so my poem makes sense:
Wee Jas, goddess of magic, death, vanity, and law.
Vecna, god of destructive and evil secrets.
Nerull, god of death, darkness, murder and the underworld.
Erythnul, god of hate, envy, malice, panic, ugliness, and slaughter.
Fharlanghn, god of horizons, distance, travel, and roads.
Melodie: Glory, glory, halleluja
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the umpteenth level lord
He can stand alone against a screaming demon horde
He has 300 hit points and a +10 vorpal sword
As he goes marching on. (shouted in thick yobbish Thug voice) Welly!!!!!
Glory, glory trash the party....(x3)
As they go marching on
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the umpteenth level priest
If you're evil and he turns you then you're instantly deceased
His wisdom's 27, it's been magically increased
As he goes marching on. (ward christian)
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the umpteenth level mage
His sells are so high level that their casting takes an age
He has a book of scrolls that's got a wish on every page
As he goes marching on. (spoken in crabby old mage voice) Drop Dead!
I cannot see the glory of the umpteenth level thief
He can hide in shadows and then cause you lots of grief
His backstab multiplier is just way beyond belief
As he goes sneaking on. (whispered) Silently, naturally.
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the flower power monk
He has no use for armour, magic weapons or such junk
And he's immune to poison so he never ends up drunk
As he goes marching on. (bow in monkish manner) So!
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the umpteenth level bard
He's both thief and fighter and he thinks he's really hard
He plays the Hammond organ and the electric guitar
As he goes filking on. (swing) Two, three, four!
Pardon my language and my French there good sir.
regardless, i'm glad you like it
Though, I am wondering why I cannot favorite this.
and thank you very much!