Songs of Mordante, sardonic and filthy

[Walrus Warwagon]

The Deluded Waltz

Gather around, attentive souls, bear witness to this tale,
Of Bana, the halfling with a wallet that set sail.
With dinari aplenty, he embarked on quite the quest,
To secure a scribe's position, with dreams that he invested best.

But oh, the riches he did splurge, a cascade of gold and more,
To grasp a paltry office role, an irony to explore.
He emptied coffers without pause, in pursuit of a dubious scheme,
A little-paying job amidst the Pyramid's grand dream.

Within bustling Souk's domain, he swaggered with his pride,
Confronting an elf with sword in hand, folly at his side.
But his courage fizzled to a whimper, like a candle in the wind,
Bana's bravado vanished, leaving uncertainty to mend.

Before a senior scribe's watchful eye, Bana's conduct spun a tale,
His words a convoluted labyrinth, a ship with no true sail.
He babbled and yelled, like a poet in a daze,
A symphony of nonsense, lost in a chaotic maze.

A wiser sage arrived on scene, his patience vast and wide,
Bana's temper flared, like a tempest's frenzied ride.
He chased the sage in folly, like a fool without a cause,
Toppling in absurdity, down from reason's laws.

From scribe to scarab, Bana's journey took its twist,
In a legion's realm of turmoil, he shall now coexist.
In the tavern-castle's refuge, where mercenaries reside,
Bana stirred a storm, with chaos as his guide.

So here's to Bana, a true savant of our age,
Whose intellect and insight set the world ablaze.
A lesson in humility, we learn from his escapades,
In Bana's gallery of brilliance, near which even brightest fades.

[Walrus Warwagon]

The Tale of Polished Art

Listen up, you rowdy lot, the tale of Magistrate,
By day he'd wield lawful gavel, with a stern facade.
The story of mighty bouncer, and trust me, it's quite hot,
For by the night he'd wield a different kind of rod.

Of Connor - a wild stallion, audacious and bold,
A double-dealing dynamo, stories to be told.

Now you say cheers and drink once more.

So grab your tankards, raise 'em high, let's dive in with a grin,
To the Magistrate's escapades, a tale of law and sin.
Judge by day, bouncer by night, he's got it all figured out,
He'll lay down the law, then lay down some more, without a doubt.

His halberd, a symbol of might and girth,
The largest in town, for all its worth!

Now you say cheers and drink once more.

Lift your tankards high, let your laughter roar,
For Connor's prowess, igniting desires galore.
He's, Connor Bootpolisher, a legend you see,
With a halberd so grand, but not swinging for free.

Oh, Connor, the main event, in the spotlight he stands,
Now others polish his boots and more, with eager, adoring hands.

Now you say cheers and drink once more.

In the courtroom, he deftly lays down the law,
But at the tavern, he will break your jaw,
He's got a taste for both gold and ale,
And when he's angry, oh, you'd best set sail!

Now you say cheers and drink the once more,
To Magistrate we all adore.