You lash at us with tongues of flame from behind your forest walls,
but I've come to know your secret, Aakrin, you really lack the balls,
to face us in the open where you realise we'd trump you hard,
so here's a little song I wrote after thinking like a Bard.

You use the Warden's arrows to bypass our protective measures,
while you huddle inside your council using tress for various pleasures.
When challenged to fight out in the open you shake your head and claim,
'You evil people scare us so that we'd just run away in shame!'

Your druids refuse to sell to us because of your sacred orders,
but that's okay, we'll find our plants from outside your Council
borders.
Your hunters fling their pets at us with such malignant glee,
but when we laugh and kill them dead they act like you and flee!

When faced with equal numbers you shout and scream and curse,
'Five on five is so not fair, don't team or we'll do worse!'
Cataclysm you tricky thing, you're being brought out again,
fire, ice and acid too are being tossed about like rain.

Yet here we stand, tall and proud against your forests wrath,
life as usual shall go on, and it's now time for my bath.
We wait for you outside, Aakrin, to venture forth once more,
don't make us wait for long, old man, since you declared it war!

-Ragnar Nessaja, Malign Instructor.

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Letum, in the year 532 AD.