On a cold, misty night at the Old Inn's tavern,
Was a group of travelers awaiting their beds,
The usual chatter of bad health and frost-burn,
Was the norm until the drinks affected their heads.
Ruckus boasting began of skill and of might,
And who were the ones who were most affective,
"We do this and that, and that - your oversight!",
Was the common cry of those most supportive.
And so four groups of debaters were quickly construed,
Into the fair mages, clerics, warriors, and thieves,
Each claiming to be the best, to end this friendly feud,
Not simple when each fellow sticks to what he believes.
The mages unite, and sing of our great deeds,
For these folks do not realize our greatness,
We are the ones whom every encounter needs,
To destroy the enemy with much hastiness.
We control the great magic of this world,
To make all allies disappear before our foes eyes,
Or even float above terrain so bold,
Or shield our area at the sound of enemy cries.
Our great spells do much damage at will,
More than you other folks' spells ever can,
We mages still claim to best fulfill,
The need to disrupt our enemies plan.
The warriors unite, and sing ourselves great praise,
For we are the best, now and until the end of time,
We are the tough ones who lead the battle always,
And cause havoc and chaos amongst enemy slime.
We bravely slice our foes into two, or sometimes three,
To protect you petty folks - on foot or on mount,
While driving fear into the hearts of the enemy,
Also absorbing more damage than you can count.
Our war cries and strength, our powerful will,
Makes the difference in battle we say,
We warriors still claim to best fulfill,
The need to crush our foes and win the day.
The thieves unite, and sing of our great actions,
For we cannot ourselves go unheard this night,
We are the ones whose stab the enemy shuns,
Along with our cunning, stealth and furious might.
We spy and lay traps and execute plans with our tools,
To stop, maim or kill those who dare attack us at all,
We easily sneak past the enemy lines (those fools),
So our treachery begins our enemy's downfall.
Our sheath, our dagger, our devious skill,
Are a deadly combination to one and to all,
We cunning thieves still claim to best fulfill,
The need to wreck and ruin each and every rival.
The clerics unite - our glory we must maintain,
For we are the ones who the foes despise most,
Our shared life force being most useful to sustain,
The lives of our allies and strength of our host.
We protect you folk, and renew your strength,
From the wounds adversaries dare to inflict on you,
The healing we give compares to no length,
To the resurrection of the dead to life anew.
Not to mention the fear we instill,
In roasting the enemy with our incantations,
We clerics still claim to best fulfill,
The need to thwart our foes' victory celebrations.
Amongst the confusion, and taunts of the travelers,
Quietly arose a robed man of evident great age,
His raised hands drew quick silence from the adventurers,
And listeners were made by the speech of this elderly sage.
Your comments and song, your taunts and jeers,
Are so true yet so false, are so right yet so wrong,
For you yet must realize your fears,
Your talents apart from others are not so strong.
You warriors must see the use of so many spells' aid,
In weakening the foe so you may have rest,
You clerics must see the difference the warriors made,
In protecting your lives while you do your best.
You mages must notice the thieves skill and cunning,
In trapping foes who would easily slay you,
You thieves must know the effect of allies' helping,
In paving a way for the plans that you do.
These are but a few instances amongst others,
Your dependence on others help is here shown,
Do not overlook help from your friend and brothers,
For sure the day you lack it will soon be known.
So end this funny and amicable feud,
As it has become so tiresome and stale,
Enjoy this now peaceful time in a good mood,
And in the meantime: Bartender - bring more ale!
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