[Posted around old town and downtown in the apparent flurry of poem writing]

  • Thundersword

    Boldly swinging longswords
    She does not know how to use.
    Attacking great Count Manzahar
    And always leaving bruised.

    Bedding the Beholder-spawn
    That lordly king of cats.
    Who better a beloved
    Than another noble brat?

    The Lord but dances on her strings
    Her control far from discrete
    But even she can't hold him back
    From a tabby that's in heat.

    But old town greets her happily
    With whoops and cheers and sighs
    "Behold the chosen of Sharess!
    For here comes Thunderthighs!"

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