Snow White Hills Blood Bowl Chronicles

Owt in shaden wodespan, dwelt the murdrus beaste, Vittaling on the sack-for-homes, gorge-laden with his feaste, Stalking 'tween the leafen glade, preying 'pon the weake, Glutting the hardy and the poor, e'en dinning on the meake. And noth there was, that brave the woode, Noth amidste the sword-handy and the goode, 'cept a gallanting Knacht from far Breton, Who trot a-quest to lay sword on. And kinder Tomas Wanderer, 'nored his mother's tonge, For Tomas he listened nither, much so for kinder yonge, He hitched up sweepstik ponie, waving woden sworde, And sleeked out to the wodespan, footestepping Breton Lord. The snilvin Foole pranced at the bridge, and cry cackle at the boye, Go sleekin not with Beast of Teeth, not slitblood with some toy. But he was the Fool and none to mind, and Tomas heeded not, Slug saddleshrag on destrier and westered at the trot. Yonge Tomas spired the girthen oake and tarried there a while, Then 'stead of easting back again, Tom rid another mile. He cleft the black leaf shabbery and swaydin blood-daubed vine, Carefree took forth his knapper-foode and fettered there to dine. The wodecutman found Tomas there, thrice spanned him 'round the ear "Be fangs and claws for you, my ked, if sunfall shrouds you here" With axehaft brunting younge man's hide, the wodesman bade Tom home, But Tomas mere a squallsome ked, and so he bide to roam. Onnerin and inneron, through garbled bole and threshy twine, Tomas goaded stick-horse on, as ruddy sun wed pale moonshine, And there aminst the sprickly bushe, he spied the lairing of the brute, Stepped out brightly 'pon his steed, thru' graping branch and scraping root. And there bale-eyed the spiten Beast, all goried hornes and slives and fangs, Yet brisky Tomas ventured on, he couched no dread, nor homeward pangs. Though brave Knact bidden to the grave, with woden sworde aloft Plucky Tom brandished at the Beast, who marred him with a scoff. "What mires you here, younge smoothskin- born? Did you mother about me warn?" "I have no fear!" Tom cried aloud, Horsing forward 'til Beast he growled. "I shall wolfe you flesh and snap your bones, Skrind your folkland burne their homes. For mocking ked to dare my rage, Your jibe it traps me like a cage. The unclaimed ones must dread my kinde, Can never squander fear behind." So Tomas Wanderer was no more, who never did no goode, So remember poor Tomas, and roam not in the woode.