Write a poem about your Avatar (Poetry)

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Write a poem about your Avatar.

The Goblin.
I am the red-dot glowing eyes,
beyond the safety of your fires.
and when you breathe the chill of night
you taste the essence of my might.

When I cross your shadow, fear.
Shiver, I draw ever near.
I hold a knife you'll never see
that longs to sink deep into thee.

Open veins and spurting red,
It won't be long until you're dead
and then my tribe can eat it's fill.
To me, you're just another kill.

Your turn…

Linael of the Mists

 

I am work so I don't have time
To write about my avatar a rhyme
And I also have in inspiration
to write about this creation:
That is my Avatar
a fish that can move without water.
So I post like a crazy, many text
And see what avatar comes next

[edit: Typos. I I wrote this in 2 minuts ]



[This message has been edited by Headbanger (edited November 14, 2001).]

 

Headbanger's Avatar.
Steady, my Aquatic friend, for you might spring some leaks,
because your skin is water-tight and Herons have sharp beaks.
I hope you find the pressure nice and love to dive and leap,
but the only way to hide from birds is diving to the deeps.

Oily black and slimy skin,
He of eel and catfish kin,
First you'll see the waters sunder
Then he'll drag you down and under.

Drowning in this land of black,
with bursting lungs and muscles slack.
Fear the Kuo-Toa friend;
His teeth that bite and claws that rend.

 

Solomn githzerai
In greyish cloak
My gaint quill
Shall write my notes
My masterful magic
Will keep back my foes
My druish staff
Will break their nose

 

The core of all men I be
That which keeps them standing
Lets their limbs defy gravity
Vital to all, but yet
A symbol of death,
Of the dead, for I am
Their earthly remains
That have risen again

 

O! dearest Xvart, I adore thee,
How you swing that short sword so futilely,
Please, Mr Xvart, I implore thee;
Get your big fat brown bear off me.

(ahh! Obscure BG1 references make for fine verse, no? )

 

Xfart with weakling arms my foe
off to fetch your Bear friend go
Bring him to my swordy point
and on my blade his blood anoint.

he he he.

Hey, Namuras, tell me you did'nt write that.
If you did, you are a Bard, man.

 

A Xvart is what I shall be,
A Tasloi is what I am now,
I hope Tal can be helping me,
Cause I want to be a COW.

... Man this poem sucks
Oh, and before anybody thinks I'm really trying to get a cow avatar, no, I'm not trying to get a cow avatar.

[This message has been edited by RythmicBarbarian (edited November 15, 2001).]

 

You don't want a cow avatar? Why not?
Damn funny poem, that, as are the ones about the xvarts...

Hey, thanks Linael. I did write that, though I'm normally not much of a poet... Glad you liked it.

 

Once an Orog,
Merely Screaming, "Cheese"
Now a Neo-Orog,
Who screams "Cheese Whiz"

When coughing, i wheeze,
But i'm still the best
In this biz, that Biz
We call Rest.

 

Aaah, I was wondering what that Avatar was.
(Been ages since I played BG)

Daddy was an Orge
Twelve foot tall and BAD!
Mommy was an Orc, you know,
she was a little mad.

What is the result, you say,
of Orc and Ogre spawn
An "Orog", strong, and keen to slay
into Faerun was born.

 

Ashley the sorcer.
I'm a sorcerer, its so cool,
But I need to keep going to school.
Ta-da!
Thats it.
You want more?
You can;t have it!

 

Sorcerer, at school?
sounds a bit harry potter.

Mageling trundles off to school.
Likes to play the fool.
He will end up Frog in pool.

(It has no measure because it's a Haiku...I think)

 

Cleric, Cleric, burning bright,
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or cares
Burnt the fire of thine prayers?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the celestial fire?

What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dared its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile his work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Cleric, Cleric, burning bright,
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

(and that is completely original! )

 

Yep. Math is a pretty hot cleric... feel the intense heat.

Forever Yuan-ti,
Whatever that may be,
With her dominent weapon.
Her skin is not cotton,
but skins as vibrant green scales
Only having one not two tails.

It's quick, it's stupid, but I don't care because I'm a crappy poet.

[This message has been edited by Shadow_Goddess (edited November 20, 2001).]

 

That's the funny thing of having only a Custom Avatar, Every two weeks I can make another rhyme

 

Cleric, Cleric, Burning bright
LOOK OUT, you'll set the Church alight.

:: The weasly goblin turns and bows to a picture of Spike Milligan ::

 

Tasloi, Tasloi, What a Tasloi,
Whatever that may be;
It's not a boy but full of coy,
I think it's a baddie.

Oh! Sorcerer's Place! Boards of Magick!
At level 4 a Tasloi you shall be;
With a funny face and a tail to kick,
I think it's a baddie.

 

Nice Rhythmic... I like that.

Goblins

Gobbling brains and Gobbling guts
I be bad, "No-If's-No-But's"
If I 'aint asleep or eating
I be Ripping , Maiming, Beating.

Questors come and questors go,
In the hole and down below.
Some are rich and some are poor,
and some have bones for me to gnaw.

One day soon I hope to grow,
arms so long they reach my toes.
I'll feast on Elf and Man and Pork;
For then, you see, I'll be an Orc.


And from another perspective. ( The Sembian merchants' song )

Whiny little yellow brat, desist in darksome dealing.
Leave my caravan alone and homeward now be leading.

Folks of caves in swarming gangs, abounding oft' in scoreses
Savage spawn, maleficent, nefarious little whoreses

Goblins come and goblins go, about the night on missions;
For their masters, evil, hold in sway, the midgets; vicious.

Let the thunder cleanse the hills, let the rain awash and spill
And wash the spindly scum away so I can go about my trade.

Linael of the Mists.

 

Goblin.

Scuffling, ruffling, shooting arrows
Our teeth and claws are sharp and narrow.
Summoned by Irenicus to guard
We await the unwary, stupid and lard.
Many we number, a pack of the best
The fearsome, the powerful, above the rest.
You may be mighty, but we are of sin
Scuffling, ruffling, Goblin.