Collection of Works
From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki
Title: Collection of Works
Author: Malicia Blanca
A Collection of Works; Poems, Short Stories, & Other Various Prose. † ‡ By: The Great Malicia Blanca Master Poet & Author §This Masterpiece is to be distributed soley by those with permission of The Bards of Britain. Violators will be given a harsh verbal punishment & will be written about unfavorably.
Works of Malicia Blanca Volumn I
§ Table of Contents § ¤The Rose of Trinsic-4 ¤The Bard's Lute -11 ¤Swallowed -16
- The Rose of Trinsic*
Deep twilight purple, Velvet to the touch, Fragrant & beautiful. The true flower of Trinsic be not the beloved Violet rose. Her skin as lovely to behold as the white lotus, like a silk Kimono to the touch, glowing & cool. Her eyes are twin star-sapphires, jewels caught, enraptured by her smooth brow & crowning her porcelain cheeks. Her mouth is a butterfly, the wings of which betray her every emotion but always seem to guard the land's most precious secret. If her face is beauty then her body be devine, slow curves that seem impossible, as if she were a painting or scuplted by one with a vision of a goddess. She dances with every movement, a fluid grace that inspires both awe & lust. Aye, to offer her a rose would be to give a scholar a child's book, for her beauty outshines anything that a man could give her. When one would present another girl a ribbon for her hair, no ribbon could compare to the long locks atop her crown, one would only serve to distract from it's natural elegance. What does such a woman desire, what wins her affection for a man? Maddening, honest, passioned, unashamed love. Give to her your heart wholey & with no constraints. Humility is a virtue which no woman can resist.
- The Bard's Lute*
He smells like suicide, going too fast, on a hot night. While lightning flashes and thunder beats a rythym in the sky. He lifts his lute to the heavens, though empty they do now seem, screaming in pain, screaming in vain, he beckons them to notice him. His mount's hooves thrash unyielding, his mare is now mad as he, he strums from his saddle, rain pours down his body, but his song must be heard again. A slow lonely tune he first plays, but soon it picks up pace, riding with no moonlight, lightning flashes again. Upon the beach of Britain he rides, blinded by sorrow & rain, his mare ceases not, he will not jump off, into the sea they rage. On stormy nights they can be heard, his horse gallops in the waves. His song you'll hear, stricken by fear of the bard and his faithful steed.
- Swallowed*
Years ago there was a man, Dread Scarlet was his name. Pirate Capt'n steady & strong, dealing death was his game. Many a widow Scarlet did make, many an orphan too. Feared and loathed through the lands, from Britain to Minoc & Yew. One windy day his sails filled tight, he raced toward the north. A kracken bore down with fearsome might, Scarlet showed his worth. But alas our scurvy Scarlet made one fatal mistake. His tillerman was exhausted, over-worked, and underpaid. The tillerman turned too sharp, Scarlet was tossed about. Overboard Scarlet went, his own ship turned him out. Was he eaten by the kracken, or did he simply drown? To this day, no one knows, perhaps he's still around. ¤*¤*¤*¤*¤*¤*¤*¤*¤