telerib | The Saga of Fishflinger

I wanted to do this in heroic couplets, but decided to just do it since the recipient really couldn't care less about period verse forms. I guessed wrong; it's got four iambic feet per line and it should have been five. Oh. Woe.

The Saga of Fishflinger
by Lady Teleri the Well-Prepared
Written at Pennsic XXXV for Kristoff the Crab King

At Mugmort's camp at Pennsic War
Camp Engineer of song and lore
Yea, Kristoff Veto was his name
Fishflinger was his claim to fame.

A fisherman, he caught a fish.
Catch and release, it was his wish.
"Give me," quoth Kristoff merrily,
"My trebuchet will set it free!"

I have not heard that pigs have flown
But in the air the sunfish shone.
One moment brief it swam in air
Then home it went, released with flair.

The Mugmort folk are stout of heart
This weapon was a work of art
To sit unused would be a shame
This was a war - they would take aim.

Let fly then! Black Forest's Rest
Across the water was their quest.
What missile 'gainst the foe to send
When Pennsic's all 'eternal friends'¹?

No stones nor pitch nor severed heads
But smaller rounds of Jewish breads!
A rain of bagels from the sky
O'er the water to their marks did fly.

"What shall we do?" asked Forest folk,
Those hearty men of ash and oak.
"No, this assault we cannot bear
But charge Fishflinger we don't dare!"

The Forest folk are sly and wise
They knew a trick to get their prize
So three small thieves at night they sent
Away with trebuchet they went!

Our Kristoff Veto wrung his hands
Until at last, there came demands,
A list of things to make amends
For bagel wars, and then be friends.

Forest folk shoot arrows higher
So a bowstring they require.
Mudmort made one - made it wrong:
They made a string six inches long!

The forest folk, they like to drink.
"A six-pack's good," they slyly think.
"Six-pack of what?" Mugmort replied.
Six-pack of tape's what they supplied.

White flag of truce Mugmort should fly
When ransom booty they brought by
So lady's bloomers, triple wide,
Announced them when the heralds cried.

The mighty treb, its ransom paid
Was promised to no more invade
Black Forest's Rest with bagels plain,
No more inflict that yeasty pain.

Fishflinger was brought home to stay
On Mugmort's narrow ridge of clay.
There it rests, upon that quay.
They say that it's still there today.

1 - "Eternal Friends," shortened from "Annual Enemies, Eternal Friends" is the motto of the Pennsic War.