A funeral ballad for a lost friend

by Cecile Meadows

Fringul the Brave

In the service of Indrig the Loyal
He came to us, Fringul the Hard.
To tell of he, I will now toil
Through the eyes of this lowly bard.

Intent upon death and betrayal,
Fringul followed his liege.
But his mighty sword proved disloyal
For he ne’er to his companions laid siege.

Rather he joined the party
In battle ’gainst ogres and orcs.
He brought us glorious victory
And dispatched the minions, corpse after corpse!

Yet tragedy struck on the edge of Midgemoor,
Ogres assailed the camp.
The darkness swallowed the forest floor,
No time to light a lamp!

A war cry sprung from his throat, and he took his sword in hand.
Brave and sure, he ran to attack!
Swiftly he wielded the brand!
In defense of his friends, he parried whack! thwack!

The monster he fought, a colossus
Brought its hammer down on Fringul the Brave.
Death in its eyes, ’twas merciless
And sent our dear comrade to his grave.



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