The Saga of the the Wanderers

What twisted skeins the looms of Fate have lain
Across my path! They haul me hinterland
Far from bloody duty, but never doth
Hammer rest. Here bathed in ghostly froth
I stand, last breath of ancient squire
Abjures me now to serve an eldritch ire.
Forgotten enmity 'twixt green and red,
Does gird my limbs to pass through flames inspired.

What twisted skeins have brought me here,
In flight from port-town's existential fear,
I've fallen in with travelers passing strange,
Deliverance of living statue's grange.
We walked the shadowed forest path,
Soon to find crime's bloody aftermath.
A reaving horde burdened with plundered fare,
We gave chase at a glimpse of golden hair.
A sprint! then heady row, a hammer's blow,
A reaver shorn of plunder's glorious share.

By twisted trails, the forest's byways,
Sent the lady's vengeance swamp-ways.
The poisonous doom that bloomed in kitchen pot
Gave silent sigh at blood filled belly's clot.
Now the incarcerated wights were free,
To wreak their carnage through the Banyan tree;
Two savage champions crushed by knightly arms
Red Wanderer turned to face the fiery lea.

Emboldened knights, like gods of ancient song
came charging forth to face the monster's throng
With lassos loop of eldritch rope twas bound
Arrested flight, and pulled the beast to ground.
My Lady's saviors hurled themselves upon
The burning wing -the lizard's fear foregone-
Through dirty birds hurling clods of filth and fire,
These Red-cloaked Knights did show their merciless ire.

Oh, what twisted runes are carved upon the tree of life
That takes this wayward king from strife to strife!


(This poem is the retelling of the last four sessions in a campaign in which I am playing a Paladin called Wolverhampton the Wanderer)