Friends of Ispin

“The Marshall agreed we should go with haste,
To chase down Lord Soth in the Northern Waste.
She has other priorities, but the quest has merit,
so we’ll go with a hundred soldiers, and Darrett.”

Macho finds Bakaris embarking on a plan,
To renovate the east wing of Castle Kalaman.
Macho grabs a hammer, and helps with the toil,
Bakaris promises him a fine portrait done in oil.

Gilbert made himself at home,
Ensconced in the archive, his nose in a tome.
In Kalaman’s library, each scroll and book,
and parchment deserved a careful look.

Marcus’ precious plate armour was finished,
A spot remained tarnished, but his pride, undiminished.
Knight Marcus was finally in knightly attire.
No longer outdone by the suit of his squire.

Macho went down to the tavern to choose,
Some bastion defenders who can hold their booze,
He signed up a pair who showed great zeal,
At the promise of a bunk and a daily meal.

Rabble rousing on both sides of Kalaman’s gates,
Marshall Vendri and Bakaris held public debates,
To see who would rise as the city’s new leader.
Vendri’s victory, sweet; Bakaris’ defeat, sweeter.

Marcus brought cuirasses, greaves and vambraces,
with an order to put his two smiths through their paces.
A new suit of Solamnic armour was needed,
His specifications must carefully be heeded.

Karyon went to the local girls, and spread a juicy tale,
His beef against Lord Bakaris made them shudder and wail.
His oral presentation done, the ladies keenly followed,
Karyon’s beans completely spilled, and most of it was swallowed.

“Lord Soth must be incredibly tough,
to bash a tunnel straight through the bluff,
… and then fly away? He must be well equipped!”
The Kalamanics thought, as they went back through the crypt.

Sarlomir was gone, so too the purple flames,
His last words of the Waste, and a City of Lost Names,
From his tomb Marcus recovered a dragonlance bit,
Magical, surely, but rusted to shit.