Name: Nitramin
Referred by: From Genesis
From: Ithilien
Message Date: Wednesday, 3 March 1999
Comments:
Greetings fellow note readers!
This board has seen a lot of action through time, both before and after the Army of Angmar was disbanded. I can't really think what has caused things to be so quiet here the past few months, but if the problem is that people don't talk enough that is one fault I've never been guilty of...
So, for the cause of keeping the discussions alive, and to pay tribute to the unique nature of one of my Thanarian acquaintances, I've decided to hang a small poem I've written on this board.
I know I had resolved to be a less provokative and more dignified person, and that this is probably not a step in either direction. But then again, if my verse will make just one young person out there think twice and not repeat the sad story of my Thanarian acquaintance, it has served a purpose. Apart from just making me feel better, that is.
To those of you who recongnize the true identity of the subject of this poem, please don't read it aloud to him, or he will just be offended. I doubt he'd read this long a note by himself.
Cordially,
Nitramin Caleniel
THE EPIC OF DOZO
Dozo of Kalak had a cunning plan,
and one that would win him fame.
He was evil of heart, since the day he was born
he had suffered all good creature's wrath and scorn
soon they'd cower in fear those who now dared to yawn
at his threats and his rage and his name.
For Dozo had heard of a realm in the east
which was ruled by a lord of dread,
if he dared venture there and swear fealty to him
his dull mind would be filled with lore to the brim
he'd gain power and poisons and death spells grim,
and join the undying undead.
So Dozo set out for dark Imlad Morgul
to join those infamous ghouls,
and he made his offer with gravest intent:
To go where they bid, follow whither they went,
and to quite agree with whatever they meant
and to give them his life and his soul.
If the mages snickered, he heard it not
he was flooded with envy and awe
of the power they wielded, to kill and to mar
to destroy and possess, gather news from afar...
His shoulders drooped and his mouth fell ajar
he was theirs to command, they saw.
So the mages told him to prove himself,
that he might be found worthy one day.
"If you kill our enemies, donate their gear,
fight our battles and bring all your trophies here,
and obey all orders with swiftness and fear,
without question, defeat or delay".
Poor Dozo toiled for a year and a day,
and for far far longer still.
Never a genius, twice a slave:
To the chains of Kalak that he wore to his grave
chains of Mordor were added, but blindly he gave
the last shreds of his own free will.
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