As we were walking up and down
And to and fro below the ground
(As we were wont to do), we found
A makeshift man in tattered dress.
The riddle that he posed we guessed,
Then watched as from his soulless rest
He stirred. Like lights, his eyes came on.
Our very own automaton:
He fought for us, for he was strong.
Wednesday, February 5, 2020
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
Stocking the Dungeon
Statistically, the likelihood a room
Was anything but empty wasn’t good,
And if it wasn’t, chances were it would
Be something dumb like rats, or copper strewn
Upon the floor — dropped there (so we assumed)
By real adventurers, who understood
They weren’t even worth the time it took
To write them on your character sheet. Soon,
We learned unless we wanted to be bored
To tears, such rules were better off ignored.
From then on, every room contained at least
One interesting thing — a crumpled piece
Of paper with a cryptic message; one
Mailed glove; a bauble with a tiny sun
Trapped in the center, good for candlelight.
The rules lawyer will say the rules are right:
Most doors do open onto empty days,
A pittance, rats — but that’s no way to play.
Monday, January 20, 2020
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)