A stair in Orm-That-Was may lead you down
To places long unlooked for save by ilk
Of Soothill and surround--na Egra folk--
Unless ye be one seeking gold's renown,
Aye, such as we from Burning Witch's eaves
Departed--Fancy, Crannoc, many-eyed
Abraxis, and myself Scamandros-hight
(and Kiddo too)--in seek of Zotul's naves,
Who liberated Ankhegs' chit'nous shells,
Then sought and pressed the trice for deeper hells,
& 'hind doors adamant discovered ichors reeking
Acid, seeking flesh to burn, while sneaking,
Darkling, grays and devils (ven'mous fell!)
Attacked--but we with spells and fire-nets wreaking
Laid to rest our foes, but ay! what next?
Scamandros, pricked by fang of devil-bairn
Reeled pale as one should need a burial cairn--
'Til Fancy, soother of batrachian breast
Command his toad vampiric blood to draw,
And sich corruption in Scamandros' veins,
Then purge the poison from its gulping maw
While I from Death's Door gasping hencely came--
Thus I this verse to Swamp-born Fancy dedicate
(and twenty gold); Were't not for him, I'd passed that Gate.
