Contributor—Canadian Maplecakes
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So, in true 'Thursty is generous' fashion, I wanted to put out some extra content' for True Dragons.
In true Thursty fashion, I wasn't able to write it, but instead got John Compton to prepare some excepts of Dreng & Hats performing a Shakespearean play.
Enjoy!
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Dreng: How now, yon adventurers, 'pon whose morrow // I do tread in Society's lofty name?
Hats: Waggle me thine lying tongue oh abbess // Lest I hie thee yon 'err a habit make?
Dreng: What coif claim ye I wear? Declare! // Or do thou speak'st unto yon betentacle'd hood?
Hats: Accusations unto me, oh lurker of hall // Kept quiet by midnight's softest scowls until // Ye rapp'st 'pon their door with missions' brief?
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Dreng: By my troth, whence wander this sour perfume
That shakes my nose as doth guards' search for knives
Whose pristine edge cutest only half so deep
As all the loathsome ghouls of Geb's black'st night?
But lo, approacheth the necr'mancer whose
Somatic wiles raise this fine sewers' stench.
[Enter Hats, an otyugh bearing a tricorn atop one tentacle]
All the gods' greetings unto you--
Hats: --who speaks?
Dreng: Humbly I, my lord--
Hats: --my lord?--
Dreng: -- my lord, sayth I
In presence of one such as thee, I swear.
To stand downwind your *hem* maj'sty and not be moved
Why verily must be of the 'leven
Acts performed by blessed Iomedae.
Hats: So unto thee, how now, oh wretched waif!
A tongue such as thine flappest with stale air,
A'wafting words laden with knavish lies
Yet honey, too, thou spoutest still from thence
Drawing flies with half-truths' sweet nectar
To settle 'pon your parlance nonpareil.
But tis not for I to judge thy trespass.
Dreng: Then who?
Tricorn Willy: But I, honorable magistrate
Who criest thy guilt from 'top the Spire of Nex
And voice Abadar's will from his base'st court.
Dreng (aside to Hats): Forsooth, yon thrice-horned miter speakth to me,
But pray tell to what god it prays, my lord.
Hats (aside to Dreng): To all. To none. His brim ne'er bows to one.
Neither sing with iron Gorum's clashing steel
Nor lick the laces of C'listria's boot.
As he metes Aroden's justice anon.
Dreng: Perchance I plea?
Tricorn Willy: Nay, let's your verdict see!
Dreng (To the audience): My fate 'nd your will be ever intertwined.
Let my last wave not be from gallows seen.
Ere condemned am I, your will can save me.
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Contributor—Canadian Maplecakes
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[Scene change: awaken to Dreng in a confined underground hole]
Dreng (To the audience): Whither am I?
Thither is no light in this most foul of depths, wherest mine captor hath departed.
Must I wait hither until death or salvation discovers what remains?
[Enter Tricorn Willy, atop the stage]
Tricorn Willy: Methinks that your fate lies in the hands of y'on gods than with distant mortals.
N'er should ye have come to m'uh domain than to court with death.
Y'e have found what y'e sought, and I shall soon mete out thine reward.
Shalt only be unto the morrow' that mine decision shalt be reached.
From said onerous decision, thine fate will be finished.
Dreng: Is't there narry a way to which we may parlay?
I has't a trove of knowledges and treasures whose use you may find valuable.
Mayhaps be so bold as to suggest a new fashionable piece of head wear?
Tricorn Willy: HARK NO!
Only the truest of bonnets is appropriate for mine master.
Shelyn herself tears to the sight of what standards he hast.
Thoust offers up fallacies in the form of usurper attires.
For shame!
Dreng: Tarry there be some manner of higher power from which I couldst find succor?
(To the audience) Am I doomed to the Pharasma's bosom in the Boneyard for mine ingress here!?
