Blade, and Bow, and Burning Mance,
Knife and Pouch at quiet stance,
stride through land no pen can chart.
Slept on sand and fed on game,
with a single driven path to name;
To pierce a fearsome demon’s heart.
A moor of dreaded stench appears,
lit of stars and shadowed in fear,
the driven four tread its murk.
The strike of metal, snap of bone;
waylayers flee to mortal home,
under weight of Mage’s work.
Over distant sands, ill with heat,
the driven four pause to eat,
flames fletched of dry remains.
Camp falls dark, watch is turned,
sleep of most while embers burn,
the cool of dark easing pain.
Fallen upon the lower coast,
a chartered passage merchants boast,
lack of coin gives no effect.
The Pouch and Knife soon readies,
swift hands, trained and steady,
and purloined prize a vessel collects.
Upon chopping waters high,
Blade and Bow beneath for dry,
the Mancer stands upon the bow.
Rest for a moment, little more,
sight of shoals on the rocky shore,
safety lasts only for now.
Climbing hills of piercing ore,
picks and line to a cavern door,
beyond, entrance to dank abyss.
Torchlit, and cobwebs burned,
corner and hill carefully turned,
creeping figures reminisce.
At once beasts are turned upon them,
the Bow sharp and quick to condemn,
Blade and Mance flee asunder.
Flights of shafts pierce the dark,
cries of pain the bloodletting’s mark,
chased back to the depths under.
Wounds are bound and spirits restored,
a dungeon keep slowly explored,
yet in search of the demon feared.
Stones crumble from above,
sealing air and breath and sight of
the looming beast drawing near.
Arrows loosed, magicks cast,
footsteps run light and fast,
the chamber falling all about.
A mighty leap, a slash of blade,
an unearthly cry and the darkness fades,
before dust settles, time to get out.
A driven four, over land and sea,
wanders ever where darkness be,
slaying those who taint the day.
Mance, Blade, Bow, and Knife,
four heroes, who swear their life,
as foes
of those
who in the darkness lay.