Vanessa

Do not dare call this revenge!
No! Do not write me off estranged.
As driven mad by unwarranted lust.
For this, this is beyond vengeance
This, dear heroes, is justice,
Though played up by bureaucrats
As piracy.
You come here, on a whim,
Charged by promises of spoils and valor.
I fear you've been mistaken,
For I shall not surrender so easily.
Poor fools, led astray by who?
The Bastard king and his party of fools.
Do you not realize who I am?
Whose name and birthright I bear?

We masons, we built this land.
The spoils you squandered,
Borne from our bare hands;
Hands, when outstretched for barter,
Your coffers cried out "barren".
Our priests, our mothers, our children;
Starved and driven out by selfish greed;
We only took what was promised,
Though all was wrought with tragedy.
Which, you heroes sought to right.
And now you've come, misled by lies,
To try to and right wrong once more.
But you heroes fail to realize,
That YOU have come to meet your makers;
As you lay, flailing in silenced dreams,
I'll be the one laying you to bed,
While nailing shut your coffins.

The Healer's Point of View

Light, Savior of our peoples.
Guide and protect these weary souls,
As we lay down our armistices
And join each other in battle.

Grant us the power of Your fortitude
And hear my hymns
For hope and sanctuary.

And in the dire moments,
Hear my pleas of desperation,
And guide my fading spirit
With the power of Your light,
That I could save this band of heroes.

Gnomerick of sorts

A gnome will always tinker
No matter what's abound;
In revelry or chaos
It's known where they'll be found
They never cease to wonder
Of all things old or new;
If something winds up broken
They'll know just what to do

They tinker in their workshop
That's where they make their keep;
A cogwheel-this, a gyro-that
They'll even mechanize sleep
Their savvy only rivaled
By the fiery goblin race;
A folk, if gnomes had their way,
Would be shot up to space.

Albeit short in stature,
In genius they don't lack;
Be it good or evil type,
Don't ever cut them flack.
For if you cross a gnome
They will surely make you pay;
You may not see them coming
But you''ll surely rue the day.

A gnome will always tinker
And they'll laugh maniacally;
Though, if you hear their cackle
You may have to look down to see.

Forgotton Lands

Swampy forest and mud-caked hues
As far as the eye can see
Which, is to say, not very far at all.
For moss and vine-roped trees
Obscure all angles.
Dark magics permeate the air,
As every breath familiar
With the fonts of ancient powers
Rumored nearby, yet now unseen.
Arachnids and dragon-folk lay silent,
In waiting for an unsuspecting hero
To spring upon their lairs,
And be no more.
As broken souls search for light and meaning
The answer of analogy may stand nearby
As forces greater than containment
Wage a futile, endless war.
As blood-stained pools fill voided grounds,
Whispers unbeknownst to most
Hide under the lands so hotly contested.
And should one make their way to shore,
A race of old awaits fresh faces,
For they seek to make their fate
The same for all.
Even older mysteries await beyond
The foreseeable horizon;
Answers which our heroes
May never find, at least-
Not to their knowledge.