Tarsakh 2
Inspired by God’s false fire and a lost prince’s gluttonous desire,
I commenced to sing a fledgling ballad
With strength drawn from those Immortal Poets,
whom I seek to glorify in my every moment,
Thy humble Barbatos deigns to move closer through tumultuous crowds.
But for being so bold,
Thou sent guards upon me and my muses below
Hand over foot over labyrinthine passages,
into the comforts of a house of strange wombs,
we sought refuge.
The proprietor is no stranger,
but my cruel mother’s sister, Matilda,
who was orphaned, as was I,
for having tortured skin and bulging eyes.
She tells me several of her fair harem women have been lured from merchant’s laps,
by some worshipers of the asp,
and she beseeches Barbatos to aid her in finding them
Lo! I am no scholar, no hero, no cleric!
I know little of any cults.
Thy city’s great library has knowledge,
if Thou might be so gracious to spare it
The Gnome, he who dons curious potions and hats,
accompanies me on this quest,
through glazed bricks and the oppressive noon sun.
Once there, we meet a virtuous scribe,
willing to traverse through cathedrals built from crumbling histories of time
Alas! Gnome finds vital pages in one binding have been pilfered by another!
It seems eyes are upon us!
A great joke conjured by gods of misfortune
Armed men marked by Hyena’s paw mistake poor Gnome for a thief!
Under no small threat,
brave Barbatos inquires where the men’s interests lie,
and rightly convince them of the Gnome’s innocence.
Intrigue! Worldly wallows!
A perilous pit of slithering, shadowy intentions!
These men have vested interests!
No more educated than when we came, we slink back to the brothel
Both Poet & Gnome are stalked by the lingering presence of some foul malevolence
I see to Thee!
Out of the dark a frightened lad,
badly shaken and hoisting a scroll laden bag,
tells us of his master’s slaying by Hyena & Snake.
For his former master possesses secrets of the serpent-cults coiled treasures
A peculiar set of Teeth
The night conceals us,
lends scribe a cloak to Matilda’s den.
Will Barbatos’ afflicted feet have no rest?
Scribe took what he didn’t need and left the rest at his master’s house!
Under the rouse of delivering noble shoes,
we three ascend to the high roads.
We arrive, warily
Fair Reader: A magical Aura in the house,
two Hyena’s lie dead!
I foolishly step in,
they reanimate.
Thou fated servant is wounded by their poisoned Hate!
Scribe bars the doors from fast approaching Others
We take the precious items and leap from the window.
Night Mares! Ghouls! Demons were our companions this wild night!
We return, by the Light of the sweet Immortal Poets!