Twas some night in Sahova
and all through the place
not a creature was stirring
being dead in the first place.
The beakers were cleaned
and in each nuit's lair
most dust had been lifted
by a human hand's care
the pulsers all cowered
in fear on the floor
squirming with hunger
too strong to ignore
And Qiao with his robes
and Rayage with poise
forgot it was night
and played with new toys
When out in the hall
there arose such a clatter
both ordered their pulsers
to see what was the matter
Wrenmae the plaguer
and some kelvic named Shane
could not speak to their boss
too awed to explain.
For dashing along
on the blood spattered stone
was a fat old nuit
pulled by glassbeaks of bone!
Ray and Qiao knew
that the legends were true
it was the winter themed nuit
Santasta the Blue!
They say that he only
chose people who died
frozen to death
but those 'they' might have lied
He was dressed in new skin
from his head to his toe
and he carried a sack
that inexplicably glows
And fatface Wrenmae
(who was dumb as a rock)
Found himself too afraid
to laugh or to talk.
And that Kelvic Qiao sent?
(The one I called Shane)
Is no longer alive
Because Qiao had her drained.
Which only left one
not made of dead bone
the hero named Zan
who chased after the crone
The fiend summoned monsters
no creature the same
and as he led on his glassbeaks
he called them by name
"On Slither, on Cracker,
on Stabber, and Grave!
On Mauler, on Gnasher,
on Smasher, and Dave!"
The nuits in panic,
the pulsers all eaten
Santasta had taught
Winter could not be beaten
Even if nuits
stayed safe in their home
where stone pretend people
would constantly roam
The winter would seek
find them and stow
all their rotting boned asses
in that sack thing that glows
But Zan saved the day
for he knew a cool trick
dead flesh tends to burn
like a flame to the wick
And he took up a torch
and lobbed it full force
for he was better than Wrenmae
who might as well be a corpse
And now in the winter
why, in Sahova they say
Santasta's dead heart
burned the brightest that day
The nuits all freed,
thanked Zan without much conjecture
in the way of their people
with some long boring lecture.
But the pulsers all knew
the truth of that day
Their savior was Santasta
Who'd taken the nuits away
But luckily dumb Wren
had his Blight to defend
our noble soul Zan
from pulsers who'd rend
And what did we learn
in the wake of this story?
I'll make anything up
to keep things unboring.
Glancing up from his studies, Wren seemed to just notice Zan at the end of his poem. For a moment, the familiar couldn't tell if his companion was going to laugh, or hurl the book at him. In the end, Wrenmae smiled and shook his head.
"Santasta. Laying it on a bit thick about me, aren't you?"
You made me watch you read books. Is this not payback enough?
"You have no interest in reading?"
I have no interest in studying things at all.
"Well, we need to prepare before returning to Zeltiva...only a bit longer."
And then what? After Zeltiva, what then?
"We'll figure it out. How about I let you pick our next destination."
Really?
"Really. But on the condition you paint me a bit better in your poems and learn to have some patience while I'm here."
I can try.
"That's all I'm asking."
Quietly, Zan drifted away from his master, skirting along the shelves.
He was bored again...
And how bad could one or two...hundred more poems be?
and all through the place
not a creature was stirring
being dead in the first place.
The beakers were cleaned
and in each nuit's lair
most dust had been lifted
by a human hand's care
the pulsers all cowered
in fear on the floor
squirming with hunger
too strong to ignore
And Qiao with his robes
and Rayage with poise
forgot it was night
and played with new toys
When out in the hall
there arose such a clatter
both ordered their pulsers
to see what was the matter
Wrenmae the plaguer
and some kelvic named Shane
could not speak to their boss
too awed to explain.
For dashing along
on the blood spattered stone
was a fat old nuit
pulled by glassbeaks of bone!
Ray and Qiao knew
that the legends were true
it was the winter themed nuit
Santasta the Blue!
They say that he only
chose people who died
frozen to death
but those 'they' might have lied
He was dressed in new skin
from his head to his toe
and he carried a sack
that inexplicably glows
And fatface Wrenmae
(who was dumb as a rock)
Found himself too afraid
to laugh or to talk.
And that Kelvic Qiao sent?
(The one I called Shane)
Is no longer alive
Because Qiao had her drained.
Which only left one
not made of dead bone
the hero named Zan
who chased after the crone
The fiend summoned monsters
no creature the same
and as he led on his glassbeaks
he called them by name
"On Slither, on Cracker,
on Stabber, and Grave!
On Mauler, on Gnasher,
on Smasher, and Dave!"
The nuits in panic,
the pulsers all eaten
Santasta had taught
Winter could not be beaten
Even if nuits
stayed safe in their home
where stone pretend people
would constantly roam
The winter would seek
find them and stow
all their rotting boned asses
in that sack thing that glows
But Zan saved the day
for he knew a cool trick
dead flesh tends to burn
like a flame to the wick
And he took up a torch
and lobbed it full force
for he was better than Wrenmae
who might as well be a corpse
And now in the winter
why, in Sahova they say
Santasta's dead heart
burned the brightest that day
The nuits all freed,
thanked Zan without much conjecture
in the way of their people
with some long boring lecture.
But the pulsers all knew
the truth of that day
Their savior was Santasta
Who'd taken the nuits away
But luckily dumb Wren
had his Blight to defend
our noble soul Zan
from pulsers who'd rend
And what did we learn
in the wake of this story?
I'll make anything up
to keep things unboring.
Glancing up from his studies, Wren seemed to just notice Zan at the end of his poem. For a moment, the familiar couldn't tell if his companion was going to laugh, or hurl the book at him. In the end, Wrenmae smiled and shook his head.
"Santasta. Laying it on a bit thick about me, aren't you?"
You made me watch you read books. Is this not payback enough?
"You have no interest in reading?"
I have no interest in studying things at all.
"Well, we need to prepare before returning to Zeltiva...only a bit longer."
And then what? After Zeltiva, what then?
"We'll figure it out. How about I let you pick our next destination."
Really?
"Really. But on the condition you paint me a bit better in your poems and learn to have some patience while I'm here."
I can try.
"That's all I'm asking."
Quietly, Zan drifted away from his master, skirting along the shelves.
He was bored again...
And how bad could one or two...hundred more poems be?
