Slavik's Children, Thimon Options

[Will]

A poem, quickly becoming famous throughout Thimon.

Slavik’s Children

In the hidden realms of burrows deep,
Where moonlight shadows softly creep,
A child ratfolk, small and fleet,
In Slavik's grace, they find retreat.

With fur of gray and eyes so bright,
They scamper through the silent night,
Tiny paws, a rhythmic beat,
Guided by Slavik's pawprints sweet.

In corners dark, where secrets hide,
They weave their tales, side by side,
A whispered prayer, a heartfelt plea,
To Slavik, their god, forever be.

Through mazes old, where dangers loom,
They navigate with nimble plume,
Slavik's whispers in their ear,
A guardian, forever near.

Oh, child ratfolk, with dreams untold,
In Slavik's arms, a love to hold,
Through tunnels vast, in unity,
They dance with joy, wild and free.

So, let the moon its radiance cast,
On ratfolk dreams that everlast,
In Slavik's care, a sacred bond,
A child ratfolk's faith, so fond.

In the shadowed sanctum, where pious whispers hum,
A ratfolk priest, favoured by Slavik, has come.
Cloaked in robes of reverence, anointed in grace,
Second to just one other, in the sacred ratfolk space.

Tiny paws kneel in devoted surrender,
As Slavik's blessings in the air tender.
A priestly heart, beats with devout zeal,
In the ratfolk congregation, an honoured appeal.

Chants echo softly through the hallowed halls,
As the priest, faithful servant, answers the calls.
In Slavik's name, with incense that curls,
The ratfolk priest invokes the divine swirls.

Tiny shrine adorned with sacred artifacts,
In reverence, the ratfolk priest imparts acts.
Second favorite, yet first in devout decree,
A chosen vessel in Slavik's sanctity.

Through the tunnels and in moonlit glen,
The ratfolk priest carries the divine ken.
In the congregation's hearts, Slavik's flame,
A sacred bond, the ratgod's esteemed name.

So in the holy echoes, where shadows entwine,
The ratfolk priest, in devotion, does shine.
Second of Slavik, yet in faith, perhaps first,
A sacred covenant in the ratfolk's verse.

In the ember-lit caverns where shadows dance,
There's a ratfolk wizard, Fivel, in a fiery trance.
Cloaked in flames, a sorcerer's attire,
Fivel, the conjurer, with eyes of pyre.

Whiskers twitch with an arcane desire,
Fivel weaves spells that set hearts afire.
A master of flames, in a realm untamed,
In the dance of embers, his essence proclaimed.

Fingers alight with a mystical glow,
As Fivel commands the infernal flow.
Fire whispers secrets, in the language of heat,
A wizard's incantations, in the furnace beat.

In the labyrinth of magic, Fivel's path unfolds,
A pyromancer's legacy, in stories retold.
Cloaked in the wildfire's untamed embrace,
Fivel, the fire wizard, in a radiant chase.

A conclave of flames, a blazing kin,
Fivel, the sorcerer, with sparks within.
In the tapestry of fire, his presence told,
A ratfolk wizard, in the inferno bold.

So in the flickering glow of Fivel's arcane trance,
A pyrokinetic symphony, a mesmerizing dance.
In the heart of flames, where his power unfurls,
Fivel, the fire wizard, reigns in fiery whirls.

In the heart of woods where whispers play,
There's a ratfolk druid named Nature, they say.
Tiny paws tread softly on the forest floor,
A healer by calling, with an affinity to explore.

Nature, the healer with fur of mossy hue,
Pinecone in paw, a treasure tried and true.
In the boughs' embrace, a sanctuary found,
Where verdant whispers echo all around.

Through rustling leaves and sun-dappled glades,
Nature weaves healing in the woodland shades.
A gentle touch, a whispered incantation,
Pinecone in hand, a symbol of salvation.

In the tapestry of trees, where magic aligns,
Nature's essence, where tranquility entwines.
Mossy robes adorned, a druidic grace,
A guardian spirit of the sacred space.

A rustle in the branches, a squirrel's delight,
As Nature shares the pinecone's pure light.
Tiny seeds of life, a symbol profound,
In Nature's grasp, healing resounds.

So, in the forest's embrace, where shadows fade,
Nature, the ratfolk druid, finds solace in the glade.
A healer's heart, a pinecone's embrace,
In the verdant haven, they leave a healing trace.

In the labyrinthine alleys, where shadows conspire,
Emerges Shard, a ratfolk, with eyes afire.
Fanatical whispers weave spells untold,
A magical assassin, a legend to unfold.

Serrated dreams adorn Shard's mind,
In moonlit nights, his fate entwined.
Obsidian blades, his silent confidantes,
Dancing through darkness, where chaos enchants.

Whiskers twitch with a calculated grace,
In the underworld's clandestine embrace.
Fanatic heart, a fervor profound,
In the realm of silence, Shard is crowned.

A symphony of steel, a shimmering waltz,
Each knife a story, in the moonlit vaults.
Magic courses through his nimble paws,
As Shard leaves echoes of clandestine applause.

In the shadows, he whispers, a phantom unseen,
A ratfolk's devotion, a perilous sheen.
A cloak of secrets, his mystical guise,
Shard, the night's enigma, beneath moonlit skies.

So in the tapestry of shadows, Shard weaves,
A fanatical dance, where darkness conceives.
Magical whispers, knives gleaming bright,
In the nocturnal ballet, Shard takes flight.

In a burrow deep, where shadows play,
Lived a young Rat Folk named Scratch, they say.
With fur so sleek, a tail that twirled,
Neuronic powers in a Rat Folk world.

In moonlit corners, her whispers spun,
A witch's magic, the night begun.
Her eyes aglow, with secrets untold,
A story of power, both young and bold.

Through tunnels dark, she'd weave her way,
Neuronic sparks in the quiet fray.
A witching spell, a whispered charm,
In Rat Folk tales, she caused no harm.

With whiskers twitching, and paws so fleet,
She'd dance with shadows, a rhythmic beat.
A sorceress of fur, and wisdom too,
In moonlit nights, her powers grew.

So, heed the tale of Scratch, the Rat,
A creature of magic, in fur and hat.
In tunnels deep, where moonbeams stitch,
She's the enchanting, young Rat Witch.

In a tower tall, where secrets align,
Okram, High Wizard, weaves spells divine.
Whiskers twitch with arcane might,
A Rat Folk sorcerer, in the realm of night.

Robed in velvet, a starry array,
Okram commands magic in the moon's soft sway.
Eyes ablaze with a mystical fire,
Casting enchantments, reaching higher.

Scrolls unfurl, revealing ancient lore,
In the wizard's chamber, power evermore.
Whispers of spells in the night's cool air,
Okram's wisdom, beyond compare.

With a staff that crackles with lightning's embrace,
He conjures illusions, bending time and space.
In the tapestry of magic, where dreams are spun,
Okram, the High Wizard, his reign begun.

In shadows deep where moonlight's gleam,
Lies Slavik, Rat God, in realms unseen.
Whiskers twitch in the silent night,
A deity small, yet full of might.

With fur as dark as the midnight sky,
His kingdom hidden, where mortals pry.
In tunnels winding, a maze untold,
Slavik's empire, a secret to behold.

Tiny paws command a subtle grace,
Through the urban jungle, he claims his space.
Whispers of worship among the alleys,
Slavik's presence, where darkness rallies.

A deity of scavengers and the night,
Guiding rodents with a divine light.
In corners forgotten, his altar stands,
Slavik, Rat God, ruler of unseen lands.