The PWN Before Christmas: A Pathfinder Tale (2013)

On The night before Christmas: my Pathfinder game.

No planning or forethought, my creatures were lame.

Traps hidden in hallways, doorways, and stairs

In hopes they’d impede the heroes’ affairs

The Wizard had magic all stored in his head,

The Cleric had healing to swap in its stead,

The Rogue had his picks and a magical cap,

The fighter had weapons, and armour, and crap.

At one point my table was drowned all in chatter

of movies, and memes, and bacon grease splatter.

Interest is waning! I’m failing my task!

A creature of interest, perhaps the Tarrasque?

They’d walked through my goblins like common mosquitos.

They’d rolled up my orcs like green-skinned burritos.

My monsters no match for this munchkinny group!

Burned, hacked, or deep frozen, or turned into poop!

The Rogue had evasion, and was brutally quick.

My mages were backstabbed… and teabagged. The prick.

More rapid than falcons, the stabbings they came,

And he whistled, and flaunted, and called them all names!

“My balls are on Scrote-nose! Now, Arsewipe and Dick-en!

On, Vomit! On, Stupid! On Noobie, and Chicken!

To the top of the shaft! To the back of the chode!

I’ve got ’em all tasting my chocolatey road!”

As dry leaves that before the Wild Mages fly,

The monsters were missiled, blown up, and deep-fried.

The Mage had the Fly spell, so strafing he flew,

oh wait… it was mass fly, so the Cleric went too.

Oh man, they were twinking, and here is the proof:

A summoned great dire bear assaulting the roof.

With my head in my hands, I observed with a sigh,

The flying bear’s rider: the fighter… oh my.

You’d think on a horse a charge would be bad.

It’s nothing. Believe me. A bear kills like mad.

And now stick a fighter aloft on its back,

and you have a bearnado of slashing and hack.

Their eyes-how they twinkled! Their dimples how merry!

sliced noggins like roses, popped heads like a cherry!

I thought I’d throw in a dude with a bow,

Like the elf in that movie, the cute one… you know.

The fighter smashed in the poor bugger’s teeth,

And Magefire encircled his head like a wreath.

A Shelaigleigh-charmed cudgel to his taut little belly,

Turned all of his bones to a bowlful of jelly!

He was skinny and pretty, a perfect boy elf,

I laughed when they bagged him, in spite of myself!

A gouge of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know he was already dead.

The Rogue, not a word, went straight to his work,

And filled all his stockings, then sneered like a jerk.

And laying his scrotum aside the elf’s nose,

And giving a nod, up a level he rose!

He sprang to my doorway, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew, to get waffles and gristle.

But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere they drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, ’twas a hell of a fight!”

Doc