'Twas once upon a winter's eve,
a year or so ago,
a group of drunken Guildsmen sat
midst cozy fireside glow; at
Dragon's Broken Talon Inn,
they whiled away the hour
telling tales of glorious wealth
and bragging of their power.
Coldness gusted in the door,
ev'ry eye then turned
to see an old man hobbling in
his face all scarred and burned.
"What is it?" cried a patron,
"a broken-down old sot?"
"Where did it come from?" cried another,
"Did a grave spit up it's rot?"
But the old man limped up to the bar
as if he owned the place,
then turned and stared with his one good eye
the barkeep in the face.
With solemn wink, he slapped down gold,
said, "My friends, I've got the coin,
once upon a time, all the guilds
were begging me to join.
These hands were strong, my steel sharp,
and my armor gleamed;
I deigned to think myself invincible,
'least that is how it seemed.
Tell you what, buy us a round,
and I'll tell you all a tale
to run the chills up your spine, and
turn your faces pale."

"One day my guild was called by fate
to face a fearsome foe;
the like of which we'd never fought,
and then, we didn't know.
Their name was f.R.i.E.n.D.s., and it seemed
this would be an easy score,
break down the gates as swarming tide
driving up the shore.
Through the day we all fought strong,
the grass was slick with gore,
we fought and rallied, fought and rallied,
then we fought some more.
At eventide we thought we'd won,
but we were proven wrong,
for every time our clerics healed,
again they'd come on strong.
Blood was spattered bridle-high,
we fought to our last breath,
but everywhere we turned our eyes,
we saw the face of death.
Shudder if ye meet this guild,
and cocky, ne'er be;
you're in for the battle of your life,
could maybe end like me."

'Twas quiet then, throughout the inn
'cept a shuffled boot or two,
as patrons shuddered, imagining
what this soldier had been through.
And fear, of course, as each eye stole
a glance toward the door,
knowing what he must have felt
to face this Guild in war.

<DWD 15>