Deathly Night

Deathly Night


Death hung over our heads that evening,

Strife flew through the air, the land was grieving.

We were told about the deaths to come,

But she just wouldn’t believe this little one.



She heard the tales of the dead that loomed

And came alive amidst a moonlit tomb.

But she shook her head in disbelief,

Despite the ones that gave her grief.



Before long her bag and pack she packed

And ventured into the night so black.

The others looked away from her imminent death;

A darker tale than Ol’ Macbeth.



The moonlightshone quite dim that night,

It beckoned toevil, death and strife,

But one bravecleric decided to venture afar

And followed onelonely little star.



Through SandBeach, Forest of Mist she marched on through

And midnightcloser and closer it drew,

By the time shereached the Elderine gate

She knew thatshe’d soon meet her faith.



But stilldistrusting this tale she’d heard

She felt thesituation thoroughly absurd.

And before long,without thinking of doom

She’d made herway to Moonlight Tomb.



Ten minutespast, and more time flew,

Through twenty,thirty, the minutes grew.

Until shereached the deadly hour

When the windblew an air so toxic and sour.



She stood by thehead of the ivory skull,

The thundercackled, the grey sky grew dull.

She stood therefor ages, for hours it seemed

You see she wasright, no evil to be seen!



She was lulledshe was duped into thinking all fine,

So she sighed inrelief, but in a blink of an eye

A creature so foul; rots your soul just to stare

And the poor little cleric fell into despair.



She took out her hammer and swung it about,

She jabbed at the mutant but knew that without

Some aid or assistance... No! A means of escape,

There was no killing the mutant; this zombie in wake!



A tear fell from her eye as she knew all was lost

And she looked at its limbs all rotted throughout,

At its corroded face, as thin as paper

Its bones poked through, nails sharp enough to slay her.



“Why didn’t I listen!” she yelled in her head,

As she thought of the story once narrated with dread.

Next the monster he grabbed her and tossed her aside

And she fell to the ground,wished the pain would subside.



He walked next to her body and with one hand snatched

And he heavily trod to a grassless patch.

With the nails on his toes he dug and he scraped

Till lo and behold a hole did he create.



He flung her body inside it and laid it to rest

And did this so coyly without an ounce of contest.

Then a spell cast he over the poor little body,

With a sickly voice “your soul shall never disembody”.



Then he covered the hole and packed it up tight

And retreated to the shadows with a crippling might.

He’d done all the damage he wished to achieve,

His hour was up... till next Hallow’s eve.



So next time youfind yourself wandering the Tomb

Think of thistale and its inevitable doom.

If you hear acry in the air, know without a mistake

It’s the poorlittle cleric; but in which grave does she still lie awake?