This is a guest post from WoW Comedian Wistoovern, the same mind that brought us the Automated Healing Line and WoW, What If…! So you’ve bested the agents of Deathwing, and you eagerly await your turn to destroy the citadel of fire, but what do you do in the meantime? Well, you write poetry about WoW of course! This piece came across my desk and I couldn’t help but share it with you. It reminds me of my own WoW inspired poetry for Sentry Totem, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Once upon a server, seething while I wandered, PvPing
Searching for the Horde that ganked me the hour before
While I searched for rogues attacking, soon enough I heard a sapping
Sapping of a fellow Alliance, a night elf herbivore.
“Surely this is the sign of the scoundel that killed me before.
Time to pwn him to the floor.”
Yes, assuredly I could tell that this occurred during Winter Veil
and near the Darkmoon Faire as well not far from Stormwind (Coords 30,84)
The rascal was a doomed Undead, with eyes that summoned utter dread
But had no jaw within his head, this beast I do deplore.
His hair was stiff and bones did show down to their core
Through the leather armor that he wore.
Slowly I crept up behind with only one thing on my mind
Psychic Scream ’til he was blind and couldn’t take it anymore.
Then purple druid would morph to bear, with dead blood flying everywhere!
That this fool would think to dare the bravery of the Alliance, the boor!
I tiptoed close, his doom approaching like a pit demon of yore.
And soon enough, he’d be no more.
But for all my careful silence, stealthiness is a careful science
Requiring the strictest compliance of form – need I say more?
A twig snapped loud, my place revealing! The forsaken spun, his quarry reeling,
Those undead eyes devoid of feeling! He jumped back just before
I cast my Fear. Too late; he knew what was next in store.
He Vanished and left us by the shore.
I swore and cursed, the night unheeding, then healed the Night Elf of his bleeding
And waited for the slow receding of the debuffs that he bore.
Soon enough, the saps had faded; his eyes grew firm, like the jaded
Windows of a soul berated, but his nod said little more.
I thought perhaps to introduce myself and find his name before
I took my thanks and trekked to Mulgore.
“You’re lucky I was nearby, friend; that rogue did very nearly send
Your spirit to Elune and end your life forevermore!”
I spoke as thus, not sure if saying words in or out of good roleplaying
Could possibly somehow be betraying his gameplay wishes dujour.
“Perhaps it would be best if we did travel from this shore
And send you back to Kalimdor.”
And yet my friend made no reply, the green light shining in his eye
And dour angry face decried that I should say no more.
But mana full and armor repaired, I stood my ground ‘gainst him and stared
My own exasperation bared at his quiet anger moored
He said no word, and sought to offer no accord
And thus I spoke, in quiet roar.
“Perhaps in thanks, you could at least address the man that stopped that beast.
Through my acts alone, his attack had ceased, otherwise you’d be done for.
A blessing that I did intrude, but surely you would see it rude
To show no sign of gratitude; be calm, I do implore!
I ask for naught but thanks, but perhaps you would not abhor
To share your name as good rapport.”
Still the druid stared unceasing, the leather of his tunic creasing
As if the silence somehow pleasing my freed prisoner of war.
Soon it was his hands were glowing; his ears did shrink and skin stopped showing;
In moments there were feathers growing, a night elf moments before
Now an owl, which to branches in a nearby tree did soar.
He turned to face me and said, “Read your lore.”
I stopped and stared, but soon was grinning; the foolish night elf was beginning
To show the depths of prideful sinning. “Think you this is a chore?
For I have listed among my goals to read the documents and scrolls
And tomes that ancient knowledge polls in libraries of ancient score!”
But the druid seemed to yawn as if he was suddenly bored.
Quoth the druid, “Read your lore.”
At that, I felt a bolt of danger from this rude and sullen stranger.
“Perhaps a friend of noble Ranger, come to Eastern Kingdoms from distant days of yore?
Maybe, then, you spent your summers training with the bold Windrunners?
Noble Vereesa (quite a stunner) that found her husband amongst the Kirin Tor?”
Could you be friend of hers, you man of war?”
Quoth the druid, “Read your lore.”
“Perhaps true fighter you could be, though it surely seemed to me
You needed help assuredly ‘gainst that recent undead sore.
Though I saved your from disaster; it could be you’re a battlemaster
Traveling these lands much faster than with the dangers from broken Draenor.
Could you be the Warsong Gulch general Lylandor?”
Quoth the druid, “Read your lore.”
“You came to herb among the trees before you came upon that sleaze
It still could be that from far overseas you tread upon this distant alien shore.
By skills assumed and then displayed, I think my patience is repaid!
From peaceful dell of quiet Moonglade you journey onward evermore.
Could be you the wise artisan herbalism trainer Malvor?”
Quoth the druid, “Read your lore.”
Sweat was beading upon my brow as I addressed the bird on bough
And sought to find the answer. How could my honor be restored?
In silence my mighty mind did race through every tale that I could place
I knew that only by the grace of the Light could I even the score.
“Could it be that you are one of the mighty Defenders of Malorne?”
Quoth the druid, “Read your lore.”
From that point on, I filled the hours praying up to all the powers
To find the name that scours the darkness clean from darkened door.
I pressed him there with names unending, each defeating denial sending
My hopes to shatter and my spirit rending its pride upon the floor.
“Be you that slow Darnassian wanderer, quiet and fierce Crildor?”
Quoth the druid, “Read your lore.”
And thus the druid still is perched, while in Stormwind Library I have researched
And since that day tirelessly searched for the name that I would adore.
Donyal Tovald helps me in my quest, and as Harrison Jones himself attests,
I labor long against protests, seeking the name unknown heretofore.
Who knows what ancient mysteries I shall find as I explore?
Perhaps I shall leave here…nevermore!
