*he takes up the tenth jug of ale and not even pouring it in his mug he tips it up an dours it down his throat. Another tear runs down his cheek into his stew soaked beard*
*he sings in a mournful bass*
This world it spins, was it just lust?
my love has gone, she's turned to dust,
a lassie tall with deep red hair,
I'd never seen one so fair.
She walked amongst the world not long,
I eased her hurt with words and song,
she washed my dirty shirts each day,
by night her job it was to lay,
her body on the line for pay,
to others who never knew her name,
or cared for her when on the game.
But I knew her every laugh,
and never even touched her face,
I still recall her every pore,
from watching her shout from her door,
for me to get on "Move my arse!"
when i was predisposed to farce,
which ritually is day to day,
that is the dwarven bardic way.
Her eyes were blue,
her coat was green,
her blouse had touch of golden sheen,
but shabby in the daylight air,
as if to match her tousled hair,
and gaudy brooch and tarnished rings,
with untrained voice she often sings
childish songs from times long gone,
of love and joy, her heart it shone!
But now she's lost,
disease has won,
she had no coin for aid or help,
perhaps if I had offered gold,
I had chanced to be so bold,
to offer her my heart but then,
that aint the way of of me nor ken,
so I'll drink from place to place
and dream on her sweet smiling face.
* he leaves the alehouse dropping a small sprig of yellow flowers on a paupers grave in the red light district of Leringard. No one visits*
//a touch of melancholy today.Hope you like. I think Rockhead has mentioned her to a few as his seamstress. *Perform check equals 3*
