[The Barrow-Wight]

The lights dimmed again suddenly, and a single bright spot shined down on the heavy closed curtains at center stage. An expectant hush came over the crowd, and not a soul breathed for several moments. The fact that many of the hapless souls in the Marrow-Bones basement hadn’t breathed in centuries was irrelevant, for the sudden silence was spiritual as well as physical. The ancient ghosts froze in space for many quiet seconds until at last a noise was heard: the sound of serious, killer, reverberated bass in a muddled, syncopated beat. BOOOOOOOM buh buh BOOM

May I have your attention please? said a familiar voice. The curtain began to open.

May I have your attention please?

With an audible gasp, the gathered crowd responded to the opening curtains with awed amazement. There, emerging from the foggy darkness into the eerie glow of the spotlight, was Orogarn Two like never seen before, at least not since his college days. Gone was the long, thick, wonderfully feathered hair, replaced by a short buzz of blonde spikes. The green, sword-emblazoned shirt was gone as well, supplanted by a sleeveless Tee that revealed a series of tattoos that no one in the Flagship had ever seen or even knew existed. Instead of the tight, denim trousers symbolic of the Proctorship of Grundor, he wore the baggiest, low-slung orc britches ever seen. And beneath it all, he now wore bright white, rubberized, high-topped Balfrogball Shoes marked with the world-renowned Mike swoosh emblem.

“I sold him those,” bragged Kuruharan, “for 20KB over retail.”

“Shhhhhhh!” shhhhed the audience.

May I have your attention please?

Orogarn Two then began to sing in a most unorthodox way, blurting each word in a staccato rhythm that perfectly matched the stuttering beat of the music behind him, which, the Censorship was stunned to realize, was being perfectly DJ-ed by the furry muzzle of the tiny morosa, Singéd. The small horse stood before an ancient set of Noodelorean ‘rotating disc players’, nudging the grooved, circular relics to create a fantastic backbeat.

Orogarn Two spoke again, “All you all ghouls need to stand up and recognize who you’re dealing with.” He pointed to Leninia where she sat demurely on her stack of beanbags. “This here song’s about you, my dear, and how we know what’s really going on here! Oh yeah. Let me tell you who you’re dealing with and what kind of trouble you’re in.”

Will the real Wight Lady please stand up?
I repeat, will the real Wight Lady please stand up?

We’re gonna have a problem here..

Y’all act like you never seen a wight person before
Jaws all on the floor like Chysophylax Dives burnin’ down doors
And making every situation worse than before
He is the worst force, breaking up furniture
Tearing down walls and lighting up Verls, sure!

Yeah, Earnur’s got a couple screws in his head loose
Sippin’ on Reeks and juice, peeping in bedrooms
Sometimes, he just wants to cut loose, but can’t
Cause he’s cured himself of that abuse. Right!
Yellin’ in his sleep at night, always dreaming of a fight!

Merisu and Gravlox, playing in the sandbox
“It just isn’t natural”, is the way everybody talks
He ain’t nothing but an animal, running round with cannibals
Who cut other orcs open like cantaloupes
But if they can gorge on dead animals and antelopes
Then there’s no reason that an orc and a Mary Sue can’t elope
{*ewww!*} but if you feel like I feel, I got the antidote
Women wave your lederhose, sing the chorus and it goes

~ ~ ~
She’s the Wight Lady, yes she’s the real Lady
All you other wight ladies are just desecrating
So won’t the real Wight Lady please lighten up,
Please lighten up, please lighten up?
~ ~ ~

Vogonwë, Vogonwë, wishes he could rap like me
But all he thinks about is holdin’ up a Grammy
If such a thing existed in all the land then he’d
Be up on the stage giving a soliloquy
About little Pimpi and how she’s always hungry
She can’t even stomach me, let alone stand me
Unless I fessed a case of Slim Jim beef jerky. No way!

Spooky Gatekeeper is definitely getting’ weirder
Working with an operating system that was obsolete last year
But he’s operating under the table whenever he is able
Like Window’s NT he is very unstable, spinning' like a dreidel
Rockin’ round Muddled-mirth like a troll in a cradle

~ ~ ~
She’s the Wight Lady, yes she’s the real Lady
All you other wight ladies are just desecrating
So won’t the real Wight Lady please let up,
Please let up, please let up?
~ ~ ~

But let’s not forget mister Kuruharan
Don'tcha wanna bar him, or feather him and tar him?
‘Cause He’s got everything for sale except a bus and a car in
His bottomless bag of goods, would sell anything he could
Just to get a monopoly in your Muddled neighborhood.
Always loves to haggle, even cheats at Scrabble,
Probably gonna end up rustling cattle.

As you now can see, there ain’t no maybes
Lotsa bad folks worse than Wight Ladies
So we have been sent here to destroy you
A whole Scholarship to annoy you
Outflank, enfilade, and redeploy you
They all fight like me; give their last kabob like me
Don’t dress like me; nor walk, talk or act like me
But they just might be the next best thing to me!
All you gotta do is set us free!

~ ~ ~
Cause you’re the Wight Lady, yes you’re the real Lady
All the other wight ladies are just imitating
So won’t the real Wight Lady please give up,
Please give up, please give up?
~ ~ ~

The music ended with a loud WUMP and the sound of Singéd violently kicking his ‘disc player’ into the audience. Orogarn Two flipped the one-finger Grundorian good luck sign at Leninia, nodded to his fellow Battleshipians, gave a not-so-subtle thumbs up and wink to Soregum, and walked off the stage, angry pony in tow.