Imagine going out for a drink on a Friday night (full moon preferably) in an Underworld Werewolf suit.
Seriously? I'd LOVE to do that! Those suits are just so awesome...
You? Those legs on? Would you even be able to get in the door of your average drinking establishment? In your bare feet your knocking on the door of 6'6 at least. Those heels make a pair of new rocks look like a set of flats! With those bad boys on, you'd be what, 7'2? Possibly more?
So inside, cartoon comedy; OUTside of course. Whole different kettle of fish. You'd brown trouser the whole district. Fantastic.
Ah-woo, were-rabbits of steampunk! Ah-woooooooooo...
Ahem. Begging your collective pardon.
I wrote a poem about that particular creature a long long time ago....
This wording now, as words of old.
Still story standing waiting told.
Of life not cooshed nor comforting,
so swift attendant silence bring.
When manlings beached on Velfador,
lush greening lands their senses saw.
With fertile floors and tempered air,
land such, as far as eye could stare.
So quick to judge their only sin,
for more than lustre, lay set within.
Far from first lands, of tallow man.
From whence the river Renna ran,
no bird song beast footfall would dare,
for was the realm of RevenHare.
Cut teeth as needles, fast as thought.
Fur spit clean coat, drum canvas taught.
Ear razor sharp, same velvet paw,
hex-venom wept from locking jaw.
Discarding safety by the shore.
Both court and royal wanted more.
So ordered seventh Tallow king.
Farm manlings went a settling.
Before too long, one happen by.
New prey was this fowl feral spy?
Blood carving arc, at speeding rate.
Touch Tallow, neat decapitate.
When Reven tasted manling meat,
it find it juiced and tickle sweet.
Was kill delight! Rip tear full sum,
still more, and more, and more, would come!
This tale of death and troubles true,
did spitter, spatter, sputter through.
A force of men the court would send.
What good a king? If can't defend?
From palace guard all picked by hand,
near finest fighters in the land.
All peacock bright and shrewsome cut.
Their shardings slashing throat and gut.
Return did one limp, limb shed man.
Yet mad and spiralled still he can,
say RevenHare kell all that came,
and all that come will end the same.
Kingly mouth fleet drained his cup.
Releasing lip and rising up.
"those lands I'll gift to they that bring
an end to such a venom thing.
Still more, a score their weight in gold!
Go fourth". And all the Tallow told.
Was steep reward. Task steeper still.
Take body hard and iron will.
For longest month, all silent dumb.
By second only five had come.
Well, five the number, four of note.
The fifth wrapped tight in poaching coat.
Was Lord Fel's ward. She easy missed.
A skeven little artifist.
Now trusted not, and never he.
For Ferrin, Fel's forefathers be.
Of ashen skin and slender hand.
The Ferrin once had ruled this land
and fight could they. Kill court and kings,
but mindful now of other things.
The Reven crossed had they before.
As such, it stood the elder score.
Two knights of Piric order came.
With plated metal crested same.
Rash word and deed Sir Dansy fought
and vaining love of self would court.
Sir Ganis she, was crueller cut.
Lust love for kill and nothing but.
Last Baroc, child of Tannen birth,
high lord of all the under earth.
Barrel built, beard black as pitch
fearsome strong and battle rich.
But all of they contained within,
none few quick shrewd, as Callarin.
Both pointed eye and teething full,
her body tight and muscle pull.
Mind carving wrought but self sight blunt.
Fed up through guile and want of hunt.
Now, Fel's dark sage Khan Taradell,
who's wording wise wore wisdom well.
In Callarin, saw promise flair,
so tempered mindings brought to bare.
For once she tarried to be hung,
her fairest share of poaching done.
Released to care of Lord and mage.
A second chance and steady wage.
She travelled light, with knife she fought,
black wristband twisted ten times taught.
