A single tear rolled down the rugged cheek of the oldest son of Denimthor, Proctor of Grundor, and his massive mane of glitter-rock hair hung lifelessly about his wide shoulders. The loss of one so great as Gormlessar was devastating, even if he had been totally irritating, completely idiotic, and an undeniably terrible punster. Orogarn Two was visible shaken by the death of Halfullion, so much so that he broke into uncharacteristic verse.
The lovely elf maiden kept making you wait
Lying in love with those she should hate
A terrible victim of short-sworded fate
You knew you would be the one
Only the good die young.
They gave you an ego and sent you away
They gave you a bouffant that stayed fresh all day
But they never told you the price you would pay
For the perms that you might have done
Only the good die young.
You fell in with a dangerous crowd
Some were quite pretty, others quite loud
But you were completely and utterly proud
By vanity you were undone
Only the good die young.
That’s what I said.
Only the good die young.
You got a nice white horse and a party on your coronation
You got a sword that morphs
Made by the seven dwarfs
But Halfullion they didn’t give you quite enough appreciation
Didn’t care about your salon dreams
Or your patent on relaxing creams
You should have laughed with the barbers
than died with the heroes
the barbers are much more fun
Only the good die young.
His song ended and Orogarn Two decided the time for mourning was through. It was now time for revenge. He shifted his blue jeans to relieve an annoying chafing sensation that had been bothering him for hours.
“Witness the true power of the crystal,” he said, striding forward wielding his long sword like the whirling blade of a fan. His left hand grasped the stone at his neck and he shouted to his enemies, “Go into the light!”
At first, the creatures facing the lord of Minus Teeth milled about, clearly unsure of his intentions, but soon his spinning sword began to glow as brightly as the midday sun. Slowly, but ever-quickening, the orcs started to line up in orderly rows. Ranks of mesmerized monsters stood staring at the flashing blade in Orogarn Two’s hand.
With a word of command from the hypnotic Grundorian, they marched forward into the metal maelstrom.
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The Barrow-Wight
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