Fifteen Flagons Deep
Firkin cracked at the Gnomish Crown,
The bard tuned up, the lights went down,
He eyed the barbarian ‘cross the bar—
Her breastplate strained like a falling star,
“One more flagon,” he sang so sweet,
“Let me pour you something indiscreet,”
The Nychrin lady laughed with violet eyes,
Wild magic crackling between her thighs
Seventeen gnomes upon the tables dancing,
The dwarf already lost his pants advancing,
The vampire druid licked the rim of something red,
The tieflings three were tangled up in bed
FIFTEEN FLAGONS DEEP AND THE NIGHT’S STILL YOUNG!
Every filthy verse already sung!
The bard’s to blame—he always is—
For turning drinks into the devil’s biz!
FIFTEEN FLAGONS DEEP, THE WALLS ARE WET!
This is a party no one will forget!
From the taproom to the Abyss below,
Blame the halfling with the little bow!
Prince of the Underdark shed his cloak,
His appetite no jest, no joke,
He pinned a tiefling to the chandelier,
Whispered tongues of the Underdear,
The big cat purred on the banquet spread,
Knocking tankards with its massive head,
The halfling bard kept strumming strong,
Three octaves deep in a seven-minute song
Mushroom dust and fey-wine haze,
The Nychrin’s spark set the air ablaze,
Wild magic surged through every cup,
And what went down refused to come back up
FIFTEEN FLAGONS DEEP AND WE’VE LOST ALL SHAME!
Every patron moaning someone’s name!
The bard’s to blame—it’s ALWAYS him—
He orchestrates the carnal hymn!
FIFTEEN FLAGONS DEEP, THE INN IS SHAKING!
Seventeen gnomes, beds breaking!
From the cellar to the highest floor,
The Gnomish Crown can’t take much more!
“Barkeep… one more round… for the Abyss.”
Mariliths at Midnight
The wild magic was never meant to open doors like these…
The Nychrin stumbled, sparks and sin,
Her wild surge tore the planar skin,
A rift yawned wide in room thirteen,
Sulfur, silk, and the space between,
Two mariliths uncoiled through the gate,
Six arms each and they couldn’t wait,
Twelve hands finding something new to grip,
Forked tongues tasting every lip
The gnomes all screamed—but didn’t run,
The dwarf said “Lass, ye weigh a ton!”
The vampire druid shapeshifted twice,
Once for pleasure, once for vice
MARILITHS AT MIDNIGHT, COILING THROUGH THE HALLS!
Serpentine and sinful, climbing up the walls!
Six swords sheathed but six hands free,
Demonettes are dancing on the balcony!
MARILITHS AT MIDNIGHT, TAILS AROUND THE THRONE!
Even lesser demons want to join the zone!
The bard just plays—he will not stop—
Until this cursed hotel drops!
Three tieflings rode the wave of hell,
Infernal lineage serving well,
The prince declared himself a king
Of every depraved, unholy thing,
The big cat hissed at a quasit’s tail,
A gnome was tangled in demonic veil,
The halfling bard found a second wind—
His lute now blessed, his song now sinned
Oh, the planes were never meant to bleed like this,
Abyssal lips delivering a catastrophic kiss,
The hotel groans beneath the weight of sin,
And every demon wants to check right in
MARILITHS AT MIDNIGHT, TWELVE ARMS INTERTWINED!
Leave your mortal inhibitions far behind!
Succubi are pouring drinks from above,
This isn’t war—it’s violent love!
MARILITHS AT MIDNIGHT—WHO OPENED THE DOOR?
Blame the Nychrin on the bedroom floor!
Blame the bard who got her drunk on mead!
He planted every catastrophic seed!
“I regret nothing!” — The Bard, probably
The Ballad of Blame
Dawn crept in like a guilty thing,
Through shattered windows, a demon’s wing,
The lobby floor—a mosaic of shame,
Every surface sticky, no two stains the same,
Seventeen gnomes in a pile of eight,
The dwarf asleep inside a crate,
The vampire druid hung bat-form from a beam,
Still moaning softly from a fading dream
The prince lay spent upon a mound,
Of velvet, leather, silk, and sound,
A marilith still coiled around his waist,
Her sisters slithering off in haste,
The tieflings smoked infernal weed,
Reflecting on each filthy deed,
The big cat stretched across the bar,
The Nychrin floated like a burnt-out star
And there—beneath a pile of lutes,
Covered in mushroom dust and questionable fruits,
The halfling bard, grinning ear to ear,
Penning down the sequel for next year
CHECKOUT AT THE GNOMISH CROWN!
The most depraved hotel in any town!
The bard’s to blame—he lit the fuse!
Got a barbarian drunk, made a Nychrin blow her ruse!
CHECKOUT AT THE GNOMISH CROWN!
Demons going up while the ceiling’s coming down!
From a simple drink to a planar rift,
The filthiest, most legendary bardic gift!
They came for ale, they stayed for sin,
Let every filthy record show where it’d been,
The Abyss was called, the Abyss replied,
“Even we need somewhere fun on Friday night!”
CHECKOUT AT THE GNOMISH CROWN!
Write it in the histories, burn it to the ground!
Twenty-seven bodies, twelve demonic more,
One halfling bard who started a planar war!
CHECKOUT AT THE GNOMISH CROWN!
The gnomish innkeeper just left town!
This is the ballad, this is the blame—
AND THE BARD WOULD DO IT ALL AGAIN THE SAME!
A single lute chord rings…
Then the full band crashes in for four final bars
“Same time next tenday?”
