Orthur's Rite of Passage: A Poetic Tale.

Listen ye punters, ye're 'ere fer a tale!
One tha'll shock ye, feck et ne'er fails,
So lay down yer ale an' listen te me fer
Te stars shone tha' nigh',
Oh 'ow te birds did cry
O'er te Arathi Plains.
An' I ran out o' te Gates o' Strom,
My arms an' protection forgone
Wit' my mind as my only defence.
Fer te quest tha' I 'ad,
Was nay reason te be sad
O' worried, frightened.
Jus' excitement ran through me,
Runnin' away te be free
Happily as I could e'er be.
An' I searched fer years, et seemed,
Fer te one tha' I saw fit an' deemed
Te be one wit' I.
One tha' suited I,
One tha' knew 'ow te lie
An' how te slither out o' trouble.
I need a Beast tha' could cast,
An' fight te mak' 'is life last.
Ye see. I couldn't bond wit' just anybody.
Nay, I needed te best,
Wit' a gaze tha' could arrest.
Nut a burly beast.
A bear? A lion? A bird o' prey?
Bah, those are child's play.
Pathetically simple an' lame.
An' I wanted fame! Fortune!
So I took my time. Nay need te be 'ome soon,
Heh. I could do wha' I wished.
An' Arathi wasn't wha' I wanted,
Too noble an' pure, nut corrupted.
I needed te go away.
Et took months by foot, by boat,
Even when I hijacked tha' goat
Travellin' as far south as I could go.
I nay needed te Highlands,
I needed te Troll Lands.
A Vale so full o' evil.
So dangerous an' deadly,
Those Gurubashi...
I kno' tha' first 'and.
Yet even there I found naythin' tha' I could call myself.
An' after flirtin' wit' some elf
I left Booty Bay te move on.
Yet in te corner o' my eye,
Too agile an' sneaky, so sly,
My foe snuck in te sand dunes.
Yet I felt et's presence in te air,
Softly movin', tryin' not te scare
Et away from me, nay, tha' wouldn't do.
I wanted te take control tha' night,
Bu' et saw me an' bolted in fright,
So I waited, barely breathin',
Concealin' myself from et's sight.
An' by te darkness o' night,
I muttered in silence, castin' my spell
Drawin' a circle in te sand,
Chewin' on a newt's sweat gland
As I started to choke an' te shift.
Usin' magic o' old, tha' I learnt from a beggar.
My body contorted, my skin turnt to leather.
Scaled an' horrid I was.
An' my then blackened 'air shed,
An' I crawled into a pile, in a bed.
Wakin' up te next mornin' wasn't easy, ye see.
I 'ad transfigured meself, yet nut expertly.
I wasn't a master o' te Art then.
An' I've never been much o' a Druid.
Bu' still ever so fluid, as a Snake.
I spent a day layin' by a Lake.
I digress, I go on, I waste your valuable time!
With my words, my rhyme, my small talk.
I'll git down te business, so lay down yer fork
Dear sir, I found my beast, I found myself.
An' in months I spent wit' it, I learnt much.
How te shed my own skin, 'ow te swallow lunch.
(Which was tha' Elf, by te way, damn whore.)
Bu' in time we befriended,
Time passed us by as I pretended
Tha' et wasn't somethin' I needed te slay.
Yet I 'ad too kill et somehow,
Whiche'er way Suxen'll allow,
As a Snake, I did ponder an' ponder.
How te beat one down in 'is prime,
Myself a mere novice o' fightin' in te grime, te slime
O' my newfound 'home'.
Bu' when I plucked up te courage, I struck,
My fangs mostly aimed by luck,
An' we struggled tegether; eventually above ground.
So I shifted, back te my own form,
Yet te Snake were nay Snake o' mere norm.
Nay! Te Snake I were after, a Basilisk.
Giant an' fierce wit' fangs lace in Poison!
Eyes tha' were fabled te turn ye te stone, (If ye let 'em),
An' as te struggle went on, an' on,
Spells flung from my mind,
Wit' my one o' a kind
Battlin' till te end!
An' te end nearly came,
We fought too similarly, we were too much te same,
Yet when te beast flung etself finally at my beaten body!
An' I stared inte et's sleek cut eyeholes
Wit' two souls now one soul.
I faded through et like a Ghost.
Turnin' in victory!
A winner te tell this story!
I casted my final spell.
Te beast, basilisk,
Finally done wit' this,
Et fell.
An' I rose through te battle an' 'arm,
Solemn in victory, calm,
For I bested meself this day.
Yet I felt nay 'appiness in winning,
Nay, I almost felt like I were sinnin'.
Because tha' Snake were nay foe of mine.
An' when it were slain,
It's death was my gain.
Empowered an' strengthened by death!
By 'ow, in te Ancestors name, is tha' right?
Despite tis traditional rite
I felt down an' depressed on te long road home.
A long life ahead o' more sin.
Depression, an' grief...Ended wit' gin,
For my life was never a happy one.
An' te long line o' strife
O' shit tha' I call life,
Started 'ere. With this damn Snake.