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Pray Tell! (Nobody Knows)

What holds me back? Why do I remain silent?
The pure souls evoke the tarnished spell,
I want to help, but know that my verse will sound
as follows:
“STOP!”

“Pray tell, good soul, your interruption serves what purpose?”

“The spell you invoke, the spirits’ anger that you illicit--
you serve a greater purpose, a greater cause;
though not one to be admired, but one to be abhorred!”

“We know not what you speak of, the spell is right and true,
we asked a knowing warlock,
and he imparted to us few,
the very incantation that your ears of eaves do drop on.”

“Pure souls, pray tell, the warlock’s name,
which surely hast been met with fame?”

“By Earth and Sky, we would reply
his name is naught but Thorn.”

“Ha!” I laugh, triumphantly, “That surely is a tale.
The warlock Thorn, he was forlorn,
(I needn’t guess, I knew it to be true,)
a famous General Grell he was,
not puny warlock scum--
of stature grand and noble land his service had him won.
Yet recently twas found that Grell was dealing in black markets,
The Guard was sent but easily fent by grell’s sizable arms.
Indeed he was as guilty as a criminal could be,
and so began the rampage and the fugitivity.
Since he has done naught but wreak havoc and unrest,
roaming in the countryside, feeding from its breast.
An evil spirit has, they say, turned him to ill will,
his newfound goal, that evil soul, is to poison...and KILL.
Since travelling by countryside, he had met some witches.
Twas them I’m told, who stole his soul to get him to obey and listen.
Now, their mindless puppet, he spreads their vile deception,
performing any boon required, however small--however little.
Twas him has brought you this foul spell, twas him,
that make you instruments
of corruption.”

“Ha!” they laugh, dismissively, “THAT surely was a tale,
Funny that you mention, though, as Thorn had said
that one General Grell was indeed quite near these fells…
He told a similar tale, but with one minor difference:
the disguise he said that Grell was wearing--
well, it sounded awfully similar to YOUR dressings…”
“Are YOU General Grell?” they ask in unison, “PRAY TELL!”
“I think he is,” says one,
“for our king, I say, let’s get him!”


This verse, I know, a theory, put in practice would be true.
The mentality of ignorance the souls might one day rue.
But in the end I remain silent, watching Grell’s
vile work do its part in the destruction of these fells.
(The spell indeed is not a trick to speed the growth of crops,
but one that I do recognize--summons to some haunting souls
from hell.)



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