Ron, exiled king of the Ring-a-Spear-Danes,
retelling an exciting adventure story:
“So Freyday night our party/crew fetched up: [Somewhere Scandi]
‘We’ve heard it’s here you’re having trouble?’
They’re all: ‘Praise default-deities you’ve arrived!
We’re getting proper monstered!’
Local king and queen, it seems,
suffer hall-horror assaulting issues.
Huge hench-guy hangout, Herorot;
Splendid session-pad, stupendous!
Proper place you’d plan to plunder,
ifyer kiteing vile-violent viking.
Obvs, just me and my boys for the job of –
King’s well aware of all our kill-work –
shade-stroller terror of local swamp;
poetry critic, apparently, can’t
stand folk harping, having crack,
while he’s exiled in dank darkness.
Bants in the booze-barn with the boys;
monster will not maim with weapons, so I’m
having him hand to hand, outline the plan: — [Honourable/Dumb]
set up a slumber party ambush!
Achieve surprise by falling asleep –
mere-monster never will expect it!
So we are all right sound-oh off
when it arrives all wraith attacking.
‘Crar! Rar! Grar!’ — Kills a geezer!
But I am – Bang! – straight on it, mate,
have him in a headlock, holding him
so all the lads can stick their swords in.
But…
you’ll never guess what…
Swamp-sod had a special power:
“Immune To Bladed Weapons”. Yeah…
So bish-bash-bosh — rip his arm off,
begin whaling on bog-beast with it.
As he gore-crawls away to agony-die, say:
‘I reckon now he’s pretty ‘armless!’
Whole hall totally fell about, I tell you.
Turns out, our lad Terig got tagged,
king makes us up some compo. Spot
of DIY, restore the hall; Foe-arm
always looks lovely above the fireplace.
Then we get right on it; champion’s portion
for me, naturally; I get heroically hammered.
I’m so mullered they have to carry me from the hall,
mate, well before sundown!
Proper mess, made projectile…
But…
you’ll never guess what…
Guess who rocks up? The monster’s Mum!
Momma monster’s mighty miffed,
offed her offspring, topped hit-list.
Well, they have a proper shocker, don’t they?
I’m brain-dunked with chunks in my braids!
Hilarious — oblivious; didn’t even notice!
Massive fight kicks-off, I’m comatose:
Real classic, Ron, eh, fellas?
So anyway, they throw a bucket over me.
Killed the king’s best mate, she has,
dragged him off to her dire swamp lair.
So I’m all like: ‘Alright, please calm down and [Ron has a killer]
keep it down, now will you. I am getting on it.’
I should perhaps have twigged at the time:
‘How come you’re all knowing that it lives there?’
Starting thinking something lacking in the briefing…
Except I was horrendous hanging, man;
Lower than your grandad’s gonads;
Lower than your grannies mammies.
Needed my mead energy drink
to put one foot in front the other.
Armour up, jump in monster-pool;
bog standard beasts wander attack on me
barely worth any XP.
Was bloody ages reaching bottom –
should have put more weights on – but:
Ankle grab – captured! Bugger!
Turns out her son – that one was a tiddler.
Must have been a baby or summat
because mater mere-cat’s mahoosive.
‘Hi, I’m Ron,’ I get to say
Before she is banging away;
makes rag doll slam of me.
My sword cannot penetrate her
then she knocks it from me hand.
It was all getting a little tricky.
Finally, pull my lower limb free:
Rapid advance in another direction.
I’m getting sick of this situation
See another sword on wall – magic!
So slish-slash-slosh — slice her head off;
toe-tail evisceration!
You’ve all seen the boats rain cover, right?
Hasn’t she recycled out lovely?
Crawl out the swamp, magic sword melts!
Must’ve had a special purpose or summat.
Back at the hall, I’m feeling dead twitchy,.
Queenie’s dead nice about things
gives me her sons as bro-men.
You’ve met the new guys, right?
Ain’t they lovely fellas?
So we’re sitting down to dinner:
But…
You’ll never gues-
yeah, that’s right.
A dragon.
Fuck!
Fireballs full force right through the door,
Crisping sentries into crackling!
Flish-flash-floom – flames half the room!
Gotta be a Grandparent, I reckon,
wasn’t sure what type it was as
when a ten-ton torch-newt turns up
I’m not posing: ‘preferred pronouns?’
Non-binary though, I betcha, because
that’s how threefold death tales transpire:
although death – I wasn’t having any.
Quite frankly, I was forming questions
involving these beasts lifecycling.
‘Course I am – bang — straight on it! [It starts going South]
So cling-clang-clong — armour’s quite strong!
Claws me to the wall, mate!
Lucky our Ade’s an able archer, right?
Wrong:
twing-twang-twong — missed the moron!
Mind you — it hasn’t got a weak spot.
Catch ricochet arrow in arse cheek!
Quickly flambés the king and queenie:
Thinking that tricky has turned to trouble. [Hello Penguins!]
Scaled serpent tail swiping, all pillar toppling, so
Signalling the lads to grab the loot,
grab a supporting pillar, like,
batter ram on out the wall. [Exeunt PCs]
Huge stroke of luck – whole hall collapsed!
Buries incendiary beastie down in it!
Quick as a flash, our lad Ibn shouts out:
‘Quick! Boulders – dash! Pile up rocks upon it!’
It’s tumultuous tummuli time until
we’d got the burn-bugger barrowed. [The dragon is buried]
Lovely sunrise, mind you…
Finally, I told the lads to take a look around the effects-strewn scene, saying:
‘Mourning the tragic loss of all the great treasure-money in the hall
and the valiant fall of all… the whatever-they-were-called: [Geats]
We must reflect on our own brief existence.
It’s all probably deeply symbolic of fate or life or sommat.
But best we do one — be away on our toes,
Before a great-grandparent starts sticking a nose.’ [Ron bales]
At this suggestion, there was general agreement.
Wishing the survivor the best of luck
we rapid loaded up the loot-stash,
hit the herring-highway, stat,
power-rowed until we all puked up.
Set sail for our own sweet safe home harbour
We marked it ‘Here be Dragon’, down upon the map:
Feel sorry for the poor sod who goes and digs it up! [Good luck with that!]
But that’s really not my issue…
Still…
Couple of pretty handy lads added to the party…
Extreme pile of plunder and plenty XP… [Level up!]
So. Wyrd weekend, mate, really.”