Themo Lock's words of questionable wisdom

Jeff the Thief

Jeff was lean, remained unseen and only ventured out at night,
he pilfered coin, punctured loin and where possible avoided a fight,
he could see in the dark to pinpoint his mark and was both deadly and silent,
he walked unheard, light as a bird and was known to be cruel and violent.

He would rob your house, bed your spouse and relieve you of your possessions,
his gloves were spiked, was widely disliked and didn't leave good first impressions,
he enjoyed roast quail with a warm spiced ale and was secretly fond of dance,
though his steps were absurd none said a word and oblivious, he continued to prance.

His lair was unknown, he lived there alone, it was guarded by pitfalls and traps,
his rooms and crooks were piled high with books, his walls papered with blueprints and maps,
he stockpiled gold from the loot he had sold, his wealth was beyond belief,
his company rejected, he oft felt dejected but such is the life of a thief.

 

You're talented man, had me rolling with laughter

 

Grudd Bonecrusher

Grudd had become lost in thought, it was not familiar territory,
his mind and bowels slowly strained as sat and frowned in lavatory,
what if there was something more to life and death than crushing bones?,
the concept conjured uncertainty and filled his head with unknowns.

Crushing bones was what he did, the very action defined his being,
he wondered if places devoid of battle had any sights worth seeing,
he buckled his belt and strode into town with a grim, determined air,
he laid claim to an abandoned plot and opened a store of general repair.

He dragged a beggar from the street, informing him of gainful employment,
though the man was happy begging, he assumed crushed bones would ruin enjoyment,
motivated by fear the beggar quickly gained handle on his new profession,
repairing items, tools and furniture that people dropped off in rapid succession.

Convinced he was a people person, Grudd manned the stores front desk,
though he combed his hair and washed his face, his appearance was grotesque,
his firm concept of politeness was to not destroy customers on sight,
though he kept a book entitled "Accounts" he could not read or write.

An outlander entered the store one day, brandishing a strange and alien object,
"hey do you fix iphones?" he inquired, handing it to the beggar to inspect,
the beggar quietly feared for his life, he did not recognise the device,
"have you tried turning it off and on?" he asked, hoping that would suffice.

"You people are idiots" the customer replied, Grudds eye developed a tick,
the beggars eyes darted to Grudd in terror, he had to get out of here quick,
"pass it here" Grudd grumbled "take an hour and break for lunch",
the beggar fled as Grudds hand closed around the phone with audible crunch.

"What have you done?" the outlander screamed "that had my pics and ringing tones!",
Grudd dropped the man with a mighty punch and set about crushing his bones,
he wielded the mans limp body and used it to open the door like a battering ram,
"i don't know what i was thinking" he said "i crush bones, therefore i am!".

 

These are great!

 

The Quest For Fine Hats

Somewhere in the desert, near the ruins of Wyntons Folly,
a man sat propped against a rock, his mood was less than jolly,
his leg was bruised and broken, his water skins depleted,
cactus thorns stuck from his arms, his head was overheated.

A crevice had earlier blocked his path, he tried to jump the gap,
the feat had fallen short resulting in a tumble and painful snap,
though giant scorpion broke his fall, with dying breath it stung,
and a wheezing sound with every breath suggested punctured lung.

His ribs were cracked and bruised, poison flowed through veins,
patient vultures circled above and waited to feast on his remains,
he munched upon a scorpion leg and he pondered his position,
and wondered if he could crawl in time to locate a physician.

A field of cacti stretched to the horizon in every visible direction,
he feared that his fate was sealed without divine interjection,
with grim determination he bound his leg with a dusty shawl,
and with excruciating pain, across the thorny ground began to crawl.

A quest had drawn him to the desert, and the promise of a fine hat,
he had thought the task would be a pleasant break from crafting and combat,
but now he endured torment in extreme as he searched for his salvation,
his quest was now to avoid toxic shock, infection, predators and starvation.

There were no known settlements in the area to his best recollection,
but a metallic gleam draw his gaze and he crawled in that direction,
after an eternity he made it, if not for dehydration would have cried,
as he found himself at the mechanised feet of the Wyntons Folly tour guide.

The guide congratulated him, presenting him with festive head ware,
then clicked and whirred and marched away, the man could only stare,
"this mechanical half wit has left me to die" he croaked in a dry voice,
"and i would have preferred a fedora if i was offered a choice".

With a defeated sigh he donned his hat and rolled on to his back,
he eyed the hungry vultures in the sky and waited for them to attack,
he now was numb from poison, he no longer felt the baking heat,
"i may be about to die" he thought "but at least my quest is complete".

 

The Mug Of Balldric

I was offering aid in Braemar to those who were new to the land,
answering questions and dispensing gear to all that were at hand,
when a man whose name escapes me, for now let us call him Bruce,
approached and asked my name and occupation, and if he could be of use.

He clearly did not realise that i was not a merchant or NPC,
and although i tried to inform him thus, he demanded a quest from me,
struck by a spark of mischief with no intention to aggrieve,
i thought to myself "If it's a quest you want, a quest you shall receive.".

"Dark times have come upon us!" i said with dramatic flare,
"the community has been robbed of an artefact most rare.",
"it must be returned to me post haste for order to be restored",
"no man can be left unquestioned, no corner left unexplored!".

Bruce seemed quite excited and ran in circles on the spot,
though this quest possessed no ending he would give it his best shot,
"It is called the mug of Balldric!" i yelled over the chatter of the mob,
"Great!" he yelled while running off... Bruce was on the job.

Briefly my attention turned to a guild-mate with a question,
when i looked up to spot him in the crowd, he was lost in the congestion,
"Oh dear" i gasped in panic "what have i gone and done?",
i had sent him on a wild goose chase in a moment of harmless fun.

I decided to send him a message and put end to this amusing game,
but i paused with the sudden realization that i had forgot his name,
i ran in his last known direction, my face a pallid mask,
i had to find this newcomer and relieve his endless task.

I searched the lands high and low from Braemar to Kingsport,
fearing i would now be grouped with those that harass for sport,
i asked after a man that quested for the fabled Balldric mug,
people shrugged and stared at me as if i were on some kind of drug.

Somewhere out there Bruce still quests and searches to this day,
determined to complete his task unsuspecting of foul play,
i now drown my guilt in ale with no words for my defence,
but alas i cannot say for certain it will be the last quest i dispense.



Another fine reading by Asclepius click here.

 

Inspired by Jack Prelutsky?

 

No, Full Metal Jacket was playing super loud next door heh

 

These are all great Thermo! My favorite line out of all of them...

 

Thank you, i enjoy writing them when it is all quiet ^.^

 

In your honor, sir:

The Fisherman's Tale
At the end of the dock I stood and stood
Pole in hand; wasn't sure, I thought I could
But no matter how long I waited...
No fish; the hook not even baited.

Waiting on something new, I sipped some juice
Just one ran by, I think his name said Bruce.
I should have stopped the yellow named thug;
Chasing after, in haste, I spilled from my mug

Meyaka then called to ask how's my game,
Embarrassed, by standing, and feeling quite lame,
I looked at my empty mug and picked up my shtick,
And told her, with Bruce, I spoke of, um, Balldric!

Intrigued, by my antics, she asked of this new beau
And before I knew it, my story did grow.
No fish had I caught, but the bait was now hooked!
Soon my story had spread everywhere I looked.

 

Level 99 Chicken Sandwich

Returning to my stately home from an epic fun-filled quest,
i was greeted by a hellish smell that demanded to be addressed,
i recalled a chicken sandwich that i had made before my leaving,
left uneaten for months it was now a sight beyond believing.

The sandwich was a snot green hue, it had grown a coat of hair,
a putrid eyelid opened on its surface... the thing was now self-aware,
its crusts drew back revealing sharp black teeth, it slithered from the plate,
out the door the foul thing darted, it was loose on the estate.

Flies fled from its presence, grass died from its slimy touch,
the hounds refused to chase it, the smell was just too much,
i plugged my nose with camphor wax and set off in pursuit,
i tried to slow its pace with magic but it was immune to root.

I blinked ahead and focussed, stacking lightning bolt,
i unleashed a fork of energy and poured in every volt,
it squealed and screamed in my direction, it sounded like a curse,
i had thought its smell unequalled but now i singed it.. it was worse.

It hacked and spat a glob of putrid goo which hit me in the face,
i was blind and losing to a sandwich, this fight was a disgrace,
i cleared the muck from my eyes as i felt a stabbing pain below,
the thing had latched on to my leg and refused to let it go.

In panic i cast immolate and set myself on fire,
it released me and retreated, growling at me from the brier,
i decided to call this fight a draw and slowly backed away,
discretion being the better part of valour, fight another day.

I tended to my wounds, bathed and looked for a fresh towel,
i shuddered as in the distance, a wolf screamed and died mid-howl,
that sandwich was out there somewhere, slithering wild and free,
it was once destined to be a snack, but had almost eaten me.

 

Edited posts to include links for the audio from thecaverns.net. Love your work guys.

 

Hah! Pure gold with that last one!

I've had similar nightmares about the food my 2-year old stashes in his car seat. *shudder*

 

lol gross

 

Battle for Grunvald

Shardfall! form shield-wall! target your foes and watch them fall!
Inbound! hold your ground! stay in formation, don't run around!
War chant! don't recant! confuse that healer and root near the plant!
Full crank! push that flank! Healers focus on forward rank!
Last bout! move to rout! push them to the rift and force them out!

 

*bangs staff on shield*

 

Yup... was actually eating a sandwich. -he'd slowly withdraw it from his mouth, slightly doubting his very own sandwich before devouring it. "It seemed to taste normal, I felt no stomach pains... yet I still have second thoughts about you." He would place it back on his plate whilst reading the rest, peeking at his sandwich, poking it and searching for an eye that wasn't there. He'd take the next bite with caution. "Ah screw it" -he'd eat the rest with no hesitation.

Very nice read. Bad timing on having a sandwich whilst reading your work hahaha. Enjoyed it though.

 

Mint Condition (my entry for Sir Franks competition)

High amongst the rooftops of the sleeping city, Sir Frank watched with interest as far below... the counterfeiters loaded their cart under cover of darkness. He frowned and noted that the many coffers being loaded caused the wagon to sit low on its coiled spring suspension. Fake currency in such volume could play havoc on the realms economy, this was more serious than the back-room operation he had expected to find. He plucked the fake coin from his pocket that he had discovered earlier in the week and examined it, moulded lead pressed with gold foil, a mockery of the workmanship of the royal mint but passable none the less to the untrained eye in a busy market.

He twisted a bronze fixture on the head of his walking stick, revealing a hidden compartment into which he loaded a tiny vial before snapping the lid back into place and aiming the strange device at the cart below. Flipping a switch with his thumb caused the vial to launch from the end of the stick at great speed, striking the cart and exploding into a thick purple cloud that quickly enveloped the alleyway below. Shouts of confusion erupted and the sound of blades being unsheathed caught Sir Franks ear as he expertly made his way down the side of the building and silently dropped onto the cart. Still unseen and cloaked by the purple mist, he produced a flask of viscous fluid from his leather satchel and emptied its contents over the coffers. "You there!" one of the counterfeiters screeched as he spotted the intrusion "Stay where you are! Do not move!". With a wry smile Sir frank stepped back off the cart into the shadows, seemingly vanishing into thin air. As the artificial fog cleared the counterfeiters closed in on the wagon, confused as to what had just happened.

"Spectre?" one of them offered up weakly, but before he could continue that train of thought his attention was caught by the glow of a tiny ball of fire falling from the sky... a lit match. The resulting fireball could be seen from miles away, engulfing the alleyway and consuming the cart and its contents, as well as two unlucky counterfeiters that had been standing too close. The strange chemical blaze burned fast and with extreme heat but quickly extinguished itself before the conflagration could spread to the surrounding buildings, leaving a bubbling pool of molten lead that hissed and sputtered as it cooled. From his rooftop perch Sir Frank looked on in satisfaction, this did not solve the counterfeiting problem but it certainly was a good start. With a sigh, he stretched and tossed his fake coin into the pool below... there was more work to be done.

 

Chaos In The Light

Chaos is freedom in its purest form, freedom from the shackles of order.
We are chaos on the path of light, virtuous of our own accord and not by force or fear of punishment.
Order is but a tool of tyrants, a ruse ... thinly veiled slavery and oppression.
What value do enforced virtues hold? what meaning? none i tell you, none at all.
We love because that is who we are, our courage is not manufactured or demanded of us.
Truth is the death of order, the downfall of oppressors, the bedfellow of chaos.
Chaos is not darkness, it is light and virtue incarnate, devoid of malice and deceit.