The lists stood ready, their lances aligned
But fortune had faltered, cruel and blind.
A stumble, a miscall, an omen unkind?
The joust unravelled before it could wind.

So murmured the crowd of ill-starred bane
That gave lancers pause, and Gods the same
Their mailed hands pointed all the same name
That luck had turned bitter for Shadowbane.

Then from the stade, sand on her heels
Came Caefir Aeowynn to turn the wheel
"No tilt of steel, no charge today
We'll let a simpler contest weigh!"

"Three signs to summon the turning thread
No blood to spill, no chargers to tread
Just hands to speak where weapons abstain
A gentler duel for loss and gain!"

So spears were doused for simpler matches
The mounted commenced their chiroform batches
Shadowbane had hope for palmate success
This was his goal for the game R-P-S.

Soon came Ethian's Heir in star-blessed raiment
From heavens flashing, Her scimitars flamant
Beneath Her strode Finest, steadfast and bright
An untroubled creature of stubborn light.

First throw: Her rock, a starfall blow
A Sarapin comet cast in cosmic glow.
But paper rose strong from rodential reins
A crisp tide that answered from Shadowbane!

Second cast: Her paper, dawn unfurled
A radiant claim upon the world
Yet shadowed scissors, swift and plain
Cut the Light's parch, advantage: bane!

The round cut short caught the watchers in thrall
The silent scene gripped the watching hall
For grace Hermetic doled from its uncanny skein
Upon this D'Ischai-Obunn, named Shadowbane.

It carved stunned silence and broke the chain
Had fortune's favour turned for Shadowbane?
Though jettisoned from joust by luck's disdain
Hand's chance bestowed what the arenic refrained.



Penned by my hand on the 25th of Sarapin, in the year 1004 AF.