paradisalost

[Still bound to the hat the castle has forced her to wear, Vereesa looks every bit the part of a Hallow's End--and Halloween--enthusiast. Now she has a robe to match, at least.

She's seated herself in the lobby, pulling out her journal and opening it to speak.]

My sons may not be with me to celebrate the burning of the Wickerman or the regaling of holiday tales, but that does not mean that I cannot share such traditions with others.

Feel free to listen over the journal, or you are welcome to join me in the lobby.

[She clears her throat, and begins to recite her version of the tale of the Headless Horseman.]

[Dictated in a low, somewhat theatrical voice]

Gather, children, heed this tale,
Let pulses quicken, faces pale.
For Hallow's End is here at last,
And now we speak of legends past.

The Headless Horseman rides again,
Though few know where and fewer when.
He rides the skies above at night,
Giving young and old a terrible fright.

But who is he whose fires blaze,
Whose laugh is filled with utter craze?
Before undead, he stood as man,
Sir Thomas of the Silver Hand.

A holy paladin of Light,
The rotten, undead scourge he'd fight!
And with his blade he fought for all,
To the Lich King none would fall.

But tragedy did surely strike,
Taking friends and old allies alike.
Betrayed by Arthas and his plight,
He joined the Scarlets and their fight.

All Azeroth he fought to cleanse,
Bringing hundreds, thousands to their ends.
Misguided he soon came to be,
While the Scarlet Crusade continued its spree.

So blinded by his righteous cause,
He never thought to stop or pause,
'Twas not until his blade ran through
His wife and son and daughter, too.

So filled with sorrow, anger, rage,
The Scarlets locked him, like a cage.
And from his room, his sobs and cries
Would echo through the nighttime skies.

His Crusade allies felt his pain,
But asked he take his blade again,
To help them fight the undead mass.
Perhaps it'd help his sorrow pass.

Sir Thomas killed with fervor free,
Surely battle was where he was meant to be.
But soon he killed both foe and friend.
His thirst for vengeance knew no end.

The Scarlet was forced to take his head,
Their greatest comrade now lay dead.
But in the ground he would not remain,
As another brought him back again.

His mind was warped, his soul defiled,
He turned on man, woman and child.
For all were lost and dead to him,
And he alone defied the grim.

Now every Hallow's End he'll ride,
And hunt down those who dare not hide.
He sets the town ablaze with fire,
'Til break of day he won't retire.

Take cover from his searching sight,
Or feel the burn from the fallen knight.
Until the end of Hallow's End,
The Headless Horseman rides again!