Modren the Marvelous

5 Human Rogue
What ho, Gentle Sirs and Ladies! It is I, the magnificent poet Modren the Marvelous! I have traveled from the scarred lands of Lordaeron, risking life and limb in my pursuit of poetic perfection. I have taken residence at the Blue Recluse in the Mage Quarter of Stormwind, and will be appearing throughout the city, reciting original poetry for your listening pleasure!

Being an unemployed poet, any donations are appreciated. The larger the donation, the longer the poem I will recite for you! I also accept patronage, and so if you are a wealthy adventurer looking for Perfect Poetry to record your epic travels, find Modren and he will turn you into legend!!
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90 Goblin Shaman
Preposterous, I spit
No love for the awesome Horde?
Poems for patsies.
Edited by Sizzlack on 11/23/2012 12:33 PM PST
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5 Human Rogue
O Sweet Small Goblin
Come to me in Stormwind, I
am hungry for gold.
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5 Human Rogue
A poem, commissioned by Daniel:

"Elwynn Nights"

As I gaze upon the stars,
The stars gaze upon me.
They watch the shadows
of my feet as I travel
Through the golden forests.

The simple night,
Cool and crip, a fresh apple
Tastes bright for my mind.
I can see the world
as clear as the air.
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5 Human Rogue
A poem commissioned by two lovely dwarves:

The Tale of Two Dwarves

Deep in the pits in the dark is a swine,
Agathelosh the rampaging, makes an
orc's blood turn to wine.
He stands thirteen hands high,
With skin of plate steel,
and tusks carved of diamond
That turns trolls into meal.

O' Ondara!
O' Vahlohk!
Two dwarves with wills made of stone,
Their courage as strong as their marriage at home.
They packed up and set out and went
down to the dark,
With one hope and one dream,
To kill Agathelosh for all!

And so they did battle,
The dwarves and the boar,
and ondara cast spells
That from demon's blood borne.
Agathelosh had tusked her,
she bled on the floor,
But Vahlohk saved her
With his magic and lore!

Agathelosh succumbed to the weight
of the spells,
and never stood up, forever in hell!
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5 Human Rogue
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90 Orc Warrior
/raises hand :]
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5 Human Rogue
Lord of the Amani

Mikejoneswho soars upon a starry steed,
across the desert sands. He ran
along the bloody waters,
riding in a caravan.

A great lord of the Amani
He pleasured women with his tusken ways,
His treasure immeasurable and immense,
For the sun of luck shone upon all his days.

His jaded eyes saw the fall
of twenty thousand five hundred -in all-
Human heads roll upon the floor
It is Mikejoneswho thirsts for more.

It is Mikejoneswho beats the thunder drum
Mikejoneswho breaks the Lich King's throne,
Mikejones who speaks the Trollish tongue,
It is Mikejones who fears no one.
Edited by Modren on 11/27/2012 9:52 PM PST
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90 Blood Elf Monk
Oh can I have one too please?

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90 Orc Warrior
+1 e-cred Mr. Modren
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5 Human Rogue

Glossy o Glossy so fair is your hair
And your possy, a great possy:
bananas the monkey and a black war bear.

Glossy o Glossy so strong as a monk
Allies slunk, so quick slunk
beneath the mandate of your fist & hair.

Glossy o Glossy so meditative
that you float, oh you float
Across the scarred land of the Outlands.
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5 Human Rogue
Ladies and gentlemen, upon request, please tell me something of yourself. As a drunken poet, I cannot be expected to know the exemplary deeds, steeds, and feats of strength of every hero from Azeroth! So please, include some small tidbits that I might work into

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90 Blood Elf Monk
Well even without any known tidbits about me I was greatly impressed! Well done!

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5 Human Rogue
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85 Worgen Rogue
I shall be next to put in a request. Let it be an elegy dedicated to my beloved home of Gilneas and the lives that fell with her. Do this and I'll gladly pay you handsomely.

As for the details, where should I begin?

I would make comparisons with Stormwind to give you an idea of what it was like before the Cataclysm, but Gilneas was a kingdom of her very own and very distinct. When a Gilnean works, they work their hardest and will settle nothing less than perfection. If you want something done right, you'd do best to hire a Gilnean. Even if a Gilnean works themselves to the bone, they would grind that up to finish the job. Striving for that perfection, we developed a style of clothing and housing where even the small details and finishing touches were held in high regard and our craftsmens given the well-earned respect they earned. Wherever you were in Gilneas, you would see the efforts of your people flourishing into something magnificent. From the gentle wafts of pastries from the bakeries in the morning to the melodies of finely-tuned instruments serenading in the evening, it was something I was proud to call home.

Those are the memories I want preserved and I will use your poem to honor them.
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5 Human Rogue
The Lamentation of Gilneas

For the razing of Gilneas I spill seven bloody tears,
upon the blazing fires, burning, 'cross the slopes down to the piers.
For what was lost in that dark Kingdom cannot be gauged in lives,
Though the screaming of the people has forever scarred my ears.

The wives were daughters of noble lords,
and the husband's resolves were made of steel.
Their Kingdom stood, alone, the last against the Horde.
Stormwind in the South was burned,
Lordaeron was defiled.
So the Gilnean walls shut closed,
to preserve the last of their line.

O Gilneas! Your treasures were boundless
beyond the number of enemy spears,
For your vaults preserved jewels of gold and philosophy
and the best of the Gilnean plays, and paintings
made of ancient times, and magic Dwarven toys,
wine-glasses made of diamond forged
from the ruddy bowels of Azeroth.
The Gilnean finery was the best to wear,
The music was beyond what elves called fair,
The people spoke in rhymes beyond what I could dare,
but now it is lost to time.
There are no books that mark the magnificence
And so we must hear the ghosts
As they walk amongst us everywhere,
and tell us the secret of what was lost.

When the Kingdom of Gilneas burned,
I was wandering North in Silverpine,
The soot smeared upon the woods, a living urn
I could not help but yell these lines:

For the razing of Gilneas I spill seven bloody tears,
upon the blazing fires, burning, 'cross the slopes down to the piers.
For what was lost in that dark Kingdom cannot be gauged in lives,
Though the screaming of the people has forever scarred my ears.
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90 Draenei Shaman
You have a true gift sir. I would love one but I havent done anything great lately, or at all really. Ill be glad to make a healthy donation in game upon a whisper.
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90 Troll Hunter
What a wonderful idea ;)

I would like to commission a poem about Xandru.
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5 Human Rogue
A guard in Stormwind pulls a dead cat out of his bag, and pulls a wax sealed letter out of the cat. He opens the letter and places it on the door to the Blue Recluse. In flagrantly loopy handwriting, the letter reads:

Dear Sirs and Ladies,

Forgive my absence from the Blue Recluse, for I am away in the far southern lands, traveling, and researching, so that I might unto you deliver the most bounteous of beautiful poems! If your pockets jingle with cash, feel free to mail me some to support my travels (I could not even afford a messenger pidgeon for my letter). I have passage booked on a ship back to Stormwind shortly, and I should return before the mid month, upon which I expect a great deal of fanfare and oral recognition from beautiful the beautiful lassies of Elwynn!

I recently was hunted and shot by a cruel troll. My liver was pierced by a poison arrow, but the extreme levels of alcohol in my blood saved me from certain death, and I managed to crawl my way out of the Swamp of Sorrows, where I had foolishly ventured to research the infamous Blacktooth Grin Clan. I am currently hiding in (name omitted).

To Xandru:

His arrow pierced my liver
like the tusk pierced from his mouth.
He was a cruel troll hunter,
forever hunting humans in the south.

I looked upon his beast
as it contemplated eating me,
but could smell the reek
of traveller´s feet
and stale gin on my lips.
So I was saved, and the troll
went away, though vicious
and so cruel,
I know for a fact
that this is how you act
if you´re as ugly as a cesspool.

Let this serve as a warning
To all traveling poets,
If you go to the Swamp
Where Sorrow Swims
Do not forget
to bring ten stacks of gin!
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