I'm trav'ling through the woods this night;
I hear the crickets' chirping sound.
Here comes the sun's bright morning light;
An orange glow lights the muddy ground.
With pockets light and wagon full,
My tired horse sniffs and pants.
When my horse can no longer pull,
He's refreshed by my holy chants.
I hear a sound beside the road;
I glance around, but nothing's there.
Are robbers coming for my load?
Will I soon walk into a snare?
I speak a word, my body glows;
I steel myself for what's ahead.
I'll either defeat all my foes,
Or become very poor - and dead.
An arrow strikes me in the chest,
I heal my wound with a few words.
I hitch my horse and let it rest;
I see the scattering of birds.
I travel forth along the path;
I prepare for my enemies.
I prepare to dispense my wrath;
I see the group amongst the trees.
Three kobolds turn to see my face,
At first they stare in shocked surprise.
The leader grabs a wicked mace,
And glares at me with hungry eyes.
Their weapons hurt, but I am strong,
I call down fire from the sky.
The battle's over before long -
The last kobold screams his death cry.
I walk back to my tired horse,
I travel with my heavy load.
I have finished the long, hard course,
I have reached the end of the road.
Though the path was hard to follow;
The shop gives me a handsome sum.
Now my bank account's not hollow -
I have completed a trade run.
Copyright (c) 1992-2018 Medievia.com, Inc. All Rights Reserved
Mudslinger is a trademark (Tm) of Medievia.com, Inc. No portion of the MudSlinger may be reproduced without the express written consent of Medievia.com, Inc.
