Wasabisoft

Friends, acquaintances, and people who clicked on a link a buddy of theirs sent them in a chain letter: lend me your ears!  The following poem, The Ballad of the Night Chicken, is the first chronicle of the adventures of my extremely Evil (yet surprisingly Pure, for some reason) Hero from the 360 game Fable 2.  It is (as will become readily apparent) based loosely upon a number of similar literary works, though somehow I sincerely doubt any of their works deal with as vile and, frankly, hilarious a subject matter as this.  Except, perhaps, Dr. Seuss.  Enjoy.

Gather ’round children, and I’ll tell you the tale

Of the midnight slaughter of the town of Oakvale:

Our Hero was dealing in death and despair,

Stealing and raping with ne’er a care,

When a mission appeared from the Temple of Shade

Sure to add flavor to protagonist’s blade.

The Hero ran swift to Cornelius Grimm,

Hoping for gold, or maybe some trim.

(Since the Hero’s a chick, you may be perplexed

But the cool kids are down with lesbian sex)

Down at the base of a well full of spite

The Hero was told of her task for that night:

“None of my minions is evil enough;

Their hate is lukewarm; they’re not up to snuff!

You must go forth and show them the way!

A town full of rednecks you quickly must slay!

Kill all that move, leave no one alive,

Permit not a peasant to barely survive!

Do all this now, rack up some frags,

Then come right back here and I’ll give you some swag!”

With a laugh and a finger and a rude pelvic thrust,

The Hero set forth to raze Oakvale to dust.

That night, Oakvale slept with barely a care

Not knowing the Hero would soon be there.

The villagers were nestled all drunk in their beds,

Visions of not being murdered dancing in their heads;

While Minion #1 and Minion #2

Waited to tell Hero just what she should do.

When from the Rookridge Road there arose such a boom,

Quite foreshadowing some impending doom;

The bad Minions both dove straight to the ground

Fearing, like rabbits, the horrible sound.

When what to their terrified eyes should appear,

But the Hero decked out in blood-splattered gear!

The Rammer, her crossbow; The Maelstrom, her sword;

Malfeasance, her dog, with man-flesh engorged!

Onward she strode, all Good people’s bane,

Gathering spells and calling their names:

“Now Shock, now Inferno, now Vortex, Raise Dead!

On Chaos, On Blades (for the removing of heads)!

To the center of town!  To each victim’s home!

To break down their doors and shatter their bones!”

The Minions were cowed, were very entranced!

The foul Minions both needed changes of pants!

And the Hero charged forth, to deal out some death,

To crush lots of skulls, and steal some last breaths!

“But look!  On the bridge!” the first Minion cried,

“The Hero has stopped!  Has she quite turned aside

From nefarious tasks as appointed by Grimm?

Where’s her commitment, her aegis to him?”

“I hope, for our sakes,” muttered Minion Two,

“That the murdering list won’t be OURS to redo!”

The Hero then turned, and issued a threat

To the disparaging Minions: “Lest we forget,

I could skewer you both, quick as a flash,

And no one would miss your dumb Minion asses.”

The Hero did laugh at giving them pains

And bust out her bag full of ill-gotten gains.

She rummaged a bit, and grinning a grin

She pulled something horrible from deep within.

The Minions just stared on as she cackled with glee,

Donning a garment most vile to see;

And what she wear from her big sack of loot?

A costume from hell: a brown chicken suit!

“NOW we’re talking!” the Hero did squawk

And the Minions could naught but stand there and gawk

At a vision of evil beyond compare;

“There’s no way WE would’ve thought to go there!”

“Oh, silly Minions!” the Hero rebuked;

“You’re merely forgetting one simple truth:

When you’re slaying a village like some ancient blight,

Nothing says ‘Evil’ like DISDAIN for their plight!

Dress in bright colors!  Wear a rose in your hair!

Something to show that you don’t even CARE

That you hung their one child from the branch of a tree!

THAT is true evil!  THAT’S cruelty!

The Minions knew then they could never compete;

Forever they’d grovel at great Hero’s feet.

So they stayed in the rear at the Hero’s behest

As she went to dish out some poultry-themed death

In the poor town of Oakvale with fire and sword

(Something with which she never got bored).

She shot them through windows, she chased them through fields;

She dropkicked their children, she just would not yield!

And when all the poor people lay bleeding, alone,

She bought up the deeds to all of their homes

And rented them out the very next day!

As if the great Hero was trying to say:

“You ran, and you fought, you resisted, you tried;

But you’re worth so much more to me dead than alive!”

And what happened then, down in Westcliff they say:

The Hero’s small horns grew three sizes that day.

And Cornelius Grimm bowed his head in respect

From the dark, evil deed that has not been topped yet.

And while years have passed since the Hero’s last ride,

There again arise whispers of foul genocide

From lands not too distant, towns not too far

For both you and I to think back with alarm

On the night that Oakvale was laid quite to rest

With many a soul ripped from many a chest!

So remember, young ones: this is not superstition!

Fear always the crow of the deadly Night Chicken!