Edgar the Poet

4th level Monk


In his youth, Edgar was very superficial. He’d lavish his attention the rose petals but ignore the stem, its roots, the soil. “Make beautiful things,” he once called to his wife as he trotted up the hill towards the monastery, leaving her to toil in the garden. When Old Man Time decided to shape Edgar in his own image, Edgar couldn’t consolidate his spiritual need for beauty with his physical decrepitcy. He didn’t feel ugly, though, and he certainly didn’t feel he made the world ugly. If he could find beauty in his old bones, then he could surely find beauty in the ugliest sub-terrain death-lord murder-king. With that in mind, Edgar became an adventurer at the tender age of seventy-two.

by Edgar the Poet

Gods haunt the forest
Men are plants are not a thing
The dew fills its dam

Stick insects walk straight
Where man stubs his toes on moss
Piss like dew on hands

The vale calls dead men
Trees like ancestors say naught
Nothing is nothing

Folly like folly
Ever the avenger laughs
Drunk and nude and dumb

Holes like memory
Break our delusional hearts
Gravity breaks heads

Organs in us all
Like cacti in the desert
These pricks done alright

Soldiers are eunuchs
Useless swords swing silently
Through fading spring dew

Eight legs – loveless death!
Tin and timbre – mortals break!
Like branches in rain

Write my epitah
In stone, on stone, never wood
Dead men never learn

#10: Barinan’s Glory (And Our Folly)
Itsy bitsy spider crawled up the Underdark
Down came the Monk, and broke three spiders’ hearts
Out came the Drow, and massacred our friends
So itsy bitsy spider owned the Underdark again


Edgar the Poet

Adventurers Guild Adventurer_Joe