A Typical Fight Scene
By Mr Valentine
The characters in this thingummydoodad don't belong to me. If they did, I wouldn't have anywhere to keep them.
There's sort-of-violence in here, but only in a very silly way. I also work on the assumption that the characters quite like each other. Revolutionary thought, I know.
If you want to comment on this (could happen, you never know), do it at firstname.lastname@example.org
O'er the countryside rose
Sounds of struggles and blows,
That shattered the previous hush
Of the byways of Greece,
'Twas the sudden decease
Of some bandits who'd lain in ambush.
At the heart of the crowd
Stood a Warrior proud
Boldly facing all foes that beset her,
She had once been, at first,
Of all warlords the worst
But, much like a newt, she got better.
With the Bard, whom she saw
As a comrade in war
And an ally when treachery was rife,
But who she most liked to see
Taken up 'gainst a tree
As her cries of delight scared the wildlife.
The Bard worked her way
Through the seething melee
And one after another, she got 'em.
She fought bravely and well
And tried hard not to dwell
On the imprints of bark on her bottom.
As the Warrior's glower
Made the last bandits cower,
She blocked their escape from the fray,
Running would do no good,
She would teach them they should
Never disturb a warrior at play.
Her sword, with a thirst
For blood, speared the first.
With her left hand she throttled the second.
Then she, rattlesnake fast,
Bit the nose from the last,
Ever clearer her victory beckoned,
A thought which, though grand,
Was premature, and
Her opponents played one final card.
After finishing those three
She whirled round to see
Their Commander sneak up on her Bard.
This malevolent runt
Held the Bard to his front,
Forced to act as an unwilling defender
By a knife at her throat,
The Chief paused now to gloat
And demand that the Warrior surrender,
But fell back with a cry
On being hit in the eye
With a spat chunk of nose which she must
Have kept all this time,
Through the previous rhymes,
In her mouth, to her own great disgust.
His knife no longer near,
The Bard leaped well clear
As the Bandit Chief shivered in dread,
Then an accurate fling
Of a Round Killing Thing
Neatly parted his shoulders and head.
As they, from the scene, walked,
The Bard eagerly talked
But the Warrior, she saw, hadn't listened.
She was shortly to find
What was on her friend's mind
As a new tree was vigorously christened.