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A wonderful tradeskill version of Poe's "The Raven" by Paflin Corpseseeker on Brell. The original can be found here.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I sat there, weak and weary,
clicking and clicking and clicking some more,
While I combined, quite insanely, I remembered something mainly,
disregarded and forgotten, forgotten and cast upon the floor.
" 'I am a moron," I muttered, "to have not thought of this before;
I don’t enjoy being a trade skill whore."
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate KoF member told me what I had in store.
Eagerly I had wished the Shawl; and before it could fade and pall,
I started the quest and heard the call, the call for camping and farming galore!
For all the trade skills I could handle and some more,
Boredom, really, at the core.
The trade skills and the combining, well, they had no silver lining
it failed to thrill me—it filled me with the urge to pass out on the floor
So that now, to start the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"I’ll get one freaking skill up and then no more,
“I’ll get just one more freaking skill up and then I am out the door.
That’s all I need, just one more."
Presently my skill grew stronger; causing me to stay up longer,
"Come on," said I, "my skill can improve a little more;
And the fact is, I am sitting, to tell the truth I find it fitting,
who do I think I’m kidding? Kidding about my finger getting sore”
But the fact is, this is wearing. So very much beyond a bore;---
“Can I do this? And what for?”.
Deep into the pixels peering, long I sat there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, thinking thoughts so many players were forced to think before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken were the whispered words,
No more..., This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words,
"No more!"It chilled me despite the thick slippers that I wore.
Back into reality twirling, I had to stop myself from hurling,
and waited till it stopped its whirling, then I heard a tapping at the door,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, without a pause or putter,
In there stepped a stately orc pawn, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Paffa, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this itty pig-man beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy head be big and flabby thou," I said, "art sure no cabby,
tell me why you look so crabby, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Norrathian shore."
Quoth the orc pawn, "Click some more."
Much I marveled this ungainly orc to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing orcs above his chamber door,
Orcs or Gnolls upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Cliksumorr."
But the orc pawn, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
Those few words, as if his soul in those few words he did outpour.
“Holy crap!” I spluttered; not one more word he uttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have come before;
on the whole he won’t help me, I wish he would tell me what he’s for."
Then the orc said, "Click some more."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy geek, for him the shawl took half a week.
And when his skillups reached the peak , he needed Mr. Orc no more,---
So he drop-kicked him out the door
And all he knows is ‘Click some more’."
But the orc pawn still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of orc, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous man-slash-boar --
What this fat, unmanly, reeking pile of muscles, belts and gore
Meant in grunting "Click some more."
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, a subtle way to start expressing
To the orc, the desire that burned into my bosom's core;
“There must be some way of cheating,” I told the orc, “Some way of beating,
the system into meting, more skillups than it has before.”
I then waited for the orc to dispense with this invaluable lore.
But he just gurgled “Click some more.”
"Be those words our sign of parting, you orcish jerk!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Norrathian shore!
Leave no rusty pick as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my dreams of cheats unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy ass from off my bust, and take thy form from off my door!
"Quoth the orc pawn, Click some more."
And so I sit here clicking, and even though I find it sickening
To have to earn the skill-ups that make me so poor;
Although I’m glad the clicks have meaning, you cannot blame a man for dreaming.
For in a game that seems just teeming, with ways to make one’s skill-ups soar
Instead you have to click until your fingers get chapped and sore
And when your done...you click some more.
Elder Paflin Corpseseeker
Storm Warden
Knights of Freedom
clicking and clicking and clicking some more,
While I combined, quite insanely, I remembered something mainly,
disregarded and forgotten, forgotten and cast upon the floor.
" 'I am a moron," I muttered, "to have not thought of this before;
I don’t enjoy being a trade skill whore."
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate KoF member told me what I had in store.
Eagerly I had wished the Shawl; and before it could fade and pall,
I started the quest and heard the call, the call for camping and farming galore!
For all the trade skills I could handle and some more,
Boredom, really, at the core.
The trade skills and the combining, well, they had no silver lining
it failed to thrill me—it filled me with the urge to pass out on the floor
So that now, to start the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"I’ll get one freaking skill up and then no more,
“I’ll get just one more freaking skill up and then I am out the door.
That’s all I need, just one more."
Presently my skill grew stronger; causing me to stay up longer,
"Come on," said I, "my skill can improve a little more;
And the fact is, I am sitting, to tell the truth I find it fitting,
who do I think I’m kidding? Kidding about my finger getting sore”
But the fact is, this is wearing. So very much beyond a bore;---
“Can I do this? And what for?”.
Deep into the pixels peering, long I sat there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, thinking thoughts so many players were forced to think before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken were the whispered words,
No more..., This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words,
"No more!"It chilled me despite the thick slippers that I wore.
Back into reality twirling, I had to stop myself from hurling,
and waited till it stopped its whirling, then I heard a tapping at the door,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore.
" 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, without a pause or putter,
In there stepped a stately orc pawn, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Paffa, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this itty pig-man beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy head be big and flabby thou," I said, "art sure no cabby,
tell me why you look so crabby, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Norrathian shore."
Quoth the orc pawn, "Click some more."
Much I marveled this ungainly orc to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing orcs above his chamber door,
Orcs or Gnolls upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Cliksumorr."
But the orc pawn, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
Those few words, as if his soul in those few words he did outpour.
“Holy crap!” I spluttered; not one more word he uttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have come before;
on the whole he won’t help me, I wish he would tell me what he’s for."
Then the orc said, "Click some more."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy geek, for him the shawl took half a week.
And when his skillups reached the peak , he needed Mr. Orc no more,---
So he drop-kicked him out the door
And all he knows is ‘Click some more’."
But the orc pawn still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of orc, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous man-slash-boar --
What this fat, unmanly, reeking pile of muscles, belts and gore
Meant in grunting "Click some more."
Thus I sat engaged in guessing, a subtle way to start expressing
To the orc, the desire that burned into my bosom's core;
“There must be some way of cheating,” I told the orc, “Some way of beating,
the system into meting, more skillups than it has before.”
I then waited for the orc to dispense with this invaluable lore.
But he just gurgled “Click some more.”
"Be those words our sign of parting, you orcish jerk!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Norrathian shore!
Leave no rusty pick as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my dreams of cheats unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy ass from off my bust, and take thy form from off my door!
"Quoth the orc pawn, Click some more."
And so I sit here clicking, and even though I find it sickening
To have to earn the skill-ups that make me so poor;
Although I’m glad the clicks have meaning, you cannot blame a man for dreaming.
For in a game that seems just teeming, with ways to make one’s skill-ups soar
Instead you have to click until your fingers get chapped and sore
And when your done...you click some more.
Elder Paflin Corpseseeker
Storm Warden
Knights of Freedom
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