Berr and the Rolton
"It doesn't count! The torkaan didn't put the Berrhide in the crate!" - Celtic (?)
This is the tale of a contest in a summerfest. The skinning contest, one which Berr was favored to win. It was written by Oghier.
He woke up at dawn, a grin on his face
Today was the day, so be began to lace
On his plate armor, and grabbed his greatsword
And stalked out in the morning with out a word.
A great crowd had gathered, in silence they stood
Outside the arena, the men thirsted for blood!
The ladies that knew him began to weep
For they knew, too, his foe the mighty War Sheep!
A vicious old rolton, its claws sharp and hard
And fangs if an inch long, then nearly a yard!
A red gleam in its eyes, a look full of bale
It glared and it bleated, and waggled its tail!
All was quiet as death as he stood before the pen
Then howling a war cry, Berr Zercker leapt in!
None could see the battle, or witness his feats
But all heard the crash the howls and the bleats!
No heat of battle could Berr's courage melt
He'd defeat the rolton, and tear of its pelt!
How could the sheep stand against his battle lust?
But then, seconds later **Berr just bit the dust!**
Shocked and in silence, they dragged out the corpse
Both arms and legs gone, his voice hoarse
Berr cried for a cleric "It twas a stampeed!
But get me back up an swingin! I got lots more deeds!"
| Guides | Culture | Humor | Profiles |