The Night Before Kosh'harg

[Sadok]

*the following poem has been attached to the Garadar Notice Board, written in a frenzied scrawl. At the bottom, it is signed S.S.*

‘Twas the night before Kosh’harg, when all ‘round Oshu’gun
Not a creature was stirring, not even a Krogon;
The offerings were laid by the foothills with care,
In hopes that the Spirits soon would be there;

The orcs were nestled all snug in their fur-rolls;
While visions of Nagrand cherries danced in their souls;
And Grandmatron Tekla in her ‘kerchief, and I in my mask,
Had settled our heads and made sleeping our task.

When out in Garadar there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my furs (even though I was shattered).
Away to the campfire I flew like a flash,
With its dying embers and soot-like ash.

The Nether above with its purplish flow,
Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes did show,
But a miniature caravan and eight kodo;

With a little old driver who crudely swore,
I knew in a moment he must be St Mruthgor.
More rapid than elves retreating his kodos they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them bad names:

“Now, Bastard! Now, Bugger! Now Arsehole and Crotch-Itch!
On, Lousy! On, Useless! On, Son of a Bitch!
To the top of Oshu’gun! To the top of the peak!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away, I speak!”

As cowardly dwarves that before the Horde war-machine fly,
When they meet with mild resistance, mount to the sky;
So up to the Spirit Peak the kodos they flew
With the caravan full of ale, and St. Mruthgor too;

And then, in a twinkling, I heard far aloof
The pounding and thund’ring of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Onto Oshu’gun Peak St Mruthgor came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his toes
And all tarnished with blood and skulls were his clothes;
A bundle of booze he had flung on his back,
Casks and flasks and bottles bulged in his sack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! His beard, how hairy!
His teeth were like knives, his snarl rather scary!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
Or that’s how it seemed to this orc down below;

The stump of a pipe held tight in his teeth,
And his axe hung loose, ready to be unsheathed;
He had many notches on that blade he equipped,
And from his muscular arms I could tell he was ripped.

He was grumpy and pissed off, and I feared for my health
So I fled when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A roar from his mouth and a hand on his blade
Soon made me glad I had not stayed;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And emptied his ale-sack out with utmost irk,
So they might have the drunken backwards race.
I continued fleeing, fearing he’d give chase.

He sprang to his caravan, to his kodos gave a whistle,
And away they all shot like a goblin-made missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight --
“Happy Kosh’harg to all, and to all a good night!”

[Okiba]

So good!   

[Bamm]

Sadok, this is so good i could kiss you.