Item:Tattered song scroll (2)

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tattered song scroll (2)
Look:	This is a Bardic scroll, enscribed with the non-magical Bard song "The Dark Champion". It must be studied to be used. If it is being read by another, no one but that person can study it.
Weight:	5 stones
Metal:	Unknown
Appraised Cost:	125 Kronars100 Lirums <br />90.2 Dokoras <br />0.125 LTBpoints <br />0.125 Tickets <br />0.125 Scrips <br />
Properties:	This item is styled or has special functions for Bards.
Dimensions:	? length x ? width x ? height
Sources:	Sold by Deeper's Tavern for 350 Lirums Source is Deeper's Tavern

Song

You begin to sing "The Dark Champion", a tale of adventure, by Vogelin Wittelsbach.

"Night by night, when darkness fell,

The Roachherd watched, and all was well.

Watchful, watchful, watchful e'er,

Waiting, waiting, careless ne'er.

The Roachherd walked the paths at night,

Stomping insects left and right."

"The herd was not just any man,

No humdrum can blazed in his hand.

He walked in secret, Crossing's knight,

And gleamed with power before the fight!"

"The can he shakes,

Out fall the flakes,

The Bugs to snuff

Beneath the stuff!"

"A lass walked all alone at night,

A stalker's shadow fell acrost her,

And suddenly, from out of sight,

The skeeter-stalker did accost her!

The 'herd came forth around a tree,

The crisis he did spy,

In bright moonlight they stood, all three,

Mosquito, prey, and 'herd -- Oh, My!"

"The can appears,

The skeeter sneers!

Nine flakes at least

Assail the beast!"

"The Roachherd stood victoriously,

O'er fight that could not other be,

While vanquished prey, with eyes afright,

Fled the 'herd into the night."

"The Roachherd walked alone again,

In stillness guarding all his flock.

This Bugbane goes not home to rest

'Til Dawn comes in to punch the clock."

"He watches o'er us, gentles all,

For things that creep, for things that crawl.

Can ready at a single bound,

To save a woman, man, or hound."

"The Roachherd walks alone tonight,

A silent pain each footstep brands,

Dark Champion, with shoes too tight,

His fate lies in a cobbler's hands."

"None know his name, nor sing his praise,

He walks by moonlight, dreams his days,

But mama bugs, their fry to scare,

Say, 'The Roachherd'll gitcha if ya don't beware!'"

Like an undigested tart, the last note hangs in the air.