Medievia Mudslinger

August 7, 2000

The Rogues - By Jundeth

Once upon a trade-run dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
Stacks of guides and useless maps upon the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bed sheets, still I sat reciting spreadsheets.
Having reached the bottom line I a second from my time,
I then invoked the SANC command and waited for the mud to store,
Only this and nothing more.

Deep into the distance peering, long I sat there wond'ring, fearing,
Doubting, while the text kept scrolling, stopping yet to scroll some more,
But the silence was unbroken; the stillness gave no token. "Stop!" I said,
"You cursed mother! Shield and sanc just as before!"
One thing did my formies answer, only this and nothing more,
[Form], "What? Rogues? A troll?"

Was this some occult illusion, some maniacal intrusion?
These were mobiles undesired; ones I'd never faced before.
Carefully I weighed the choices as my form made impish noises.
Red text then scrolled, insistent, waiting, baiting me to move once more.
Clearly I must press a key, choosing one and nothing more,
[Form], "What? Rogues? A troll?"

With fingers pale and trembling, slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee, timidly, I pressed a key,
But on the screen there still persisted words appearing as before.
Ghastly grim, I blinked and yawned, haunted, as my patience wore,
[Form], "what? Rogues? A troll?"

I tried to catch the mud off guard, and scrolled again, but twice as hard.
I pleaded with the cursed machine: I begged and cried and then I swore.
Now in mighty desperation, repeating verbal incantation,
Still we sat with no elation, just as clueless as before.
Cursor blinking, angry winking, blinking red text as before. Reading,
[Form], "What? Rogues? A troll?"

There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted.
Scrolling up a pause/delay and scrolled across the text once more,
And then I saw a dreadful sight: rouge had dashed off to my right.
A gasp of horror overtook me, shook me to my very core.
The rouges had jacked our loved freight, lost and gone forevermore.
[Form], "What? Rogues? A troll?"

To this day I do not know the place to which abandoned freight must go.
What demonic nether world they brought where lost freight will be ignored,
Beyond the reach of mortal souls, beyond the ether, into black holes?
But sure as there's a covered, horse, a mule and more,
You will be one day be left to wander, lost on some plutonian shore,
Pleading, for red text once more.