Difference between revisions of "Area:Saurian Frontier"

The Tale of Bors the Steady,

(As told by Hfnir Ghidl'dnbruek,
Year of our Lord Neptune, 755.)

Gather round, ye rough and ready,
Hear the tale of Bors the Steady,
A mountainous man with a heart of steel,
A thunderous step and a thorny feel.
The tale begins upon the trail,
For a pride of lions with twitching tails,
Yea, Bors had hunted these killers of men,
And Galavan women again and again.
But Bors had tracked a beast of mane,
An alpha cat, the Galavan Bane,
When perchance he spied its crooked gait,
Hidden in moonlight and sprinkled with fate,
And he cleared the rise of a rounded tell,
Where fell his eyes on the beast from Hell,
Dripping and soaked with entrails and flesh,
Not quite sated as its dinner was fresh,
But Bors the Steady stood his ground,
As the beast's yellow eyes swiveled around,
And the two champions locked their gaze,
Upon one another, each unphazed.
Bors the Steady notched his arrow,
Looked down the shaft intended to harrow,
But as if graced by an unholy speed,
The lion, as lightning, paid no heed,
And leapt through the air dodging his missile,
With a ferocious roar and claws that whistled,
The lion landed on Bors with a pounce,
Were Bors not so steady the lion would trounce,
But nerves of iron and wits made of ember,
Glowing with fire and years to remember,
He bore his blade as he slipped out from under,
Before the lion could tear him asunder,
And faced his foe as warriors should stand,
With rage in heart and blade in hand,
When at last Bors struck a terrible blow,
Causing the lion's ruby river to flow,
And the beast lunged over the victorious man,
And straight to the forest, to hide, it ran,
Bors gave chase and entered the trees,
But the beast was swift and skirted with ease,
And then the beast stopped and there fell down,
As the rest of its life littered the ground,
Unable to run and welcoming death,
The lion, as Bors approached, sighed its last breath.
Bors bent down to retrieve a small token,
A trophy of sorts to sate those unspoken,
When the ground trembled and shook underneath,
And Bors looked up to four rows of giant teeth,
Standing before him an avatar of scale,
A saurian champion as big as a whale,
And roaring like thunder and striking like fire,
Snatched the lion's body with insatiable desire,
And swallowed the flesh and bone all in one,
Then looked at Bors as if it weren't done,
At that moment Bors then shuddered,
Knew his bread had finally been buttered,
Staring his reaper in its great eye,
Bors the Steady cowered and then cried,
As the beast's breath signaled the end,
Bors the Steady was never see again.

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