(Note: this saga about one of my characters will be told in the ancient style of "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," with large irregular stanzas that are comprised by alliteration rather than rhyme, essentially a different type of mnemonic device for a storyteller to remember the words by. Like "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," I will use the "bob and wheel" at the end of each irregular stanza. Unlike "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight," I'm not going to adhere to the tone of courtly virtue strictly. Finally, I'm writing it here on this forum, so if you notice mistakes I am composing as I go.)
Edit: While the forum will always have the most updated version of the story, I am making it available on fanfiction.net as well: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9833492/1/Veraka-s-Saga
To Candlekeep of Sword Coast came a comely young lass,
Guarded through magic by the grey-beard Gorion,
A mysterious mage and musician of the harp,
Who untiring came to unlikeable Ulraunt, Keeper of the Tomes,
Seeking sanctuary in so noble a hold.
Hard words they had, till haughty Ulraunt heeded
Worldly wisdom compounded by prophesies' want,
Till at last the lord Ulraunt lamented the life
Of the somber sage Gorion for settling his course,
But gave to him quarters to sequester a queen
Matriarch for a throne of mayhem and murder
Half-goddess given flesh, a human girl:
The girl grew up within
Not knowing birthright's claim
Her songs could conquer men
As power and beauty came.
Gorion guarded the girl as a father would daughter,
But Veraka confounded her wise foster father
Her capriciousness crept through the Keep in her wake
While weary Keep Watchers would weather satire,
And monks were mocked and made jest of for sport.
Yet Gorion grew hopeful the girl would not follow
The grim fate foretold for those of her blood
The daughter of Bhaal did not darken his door
Her jackanapes jokery well-suited to jesters
Was a far cry from fomenting fear and mass murder
The trickster teenager might try his patience,
But he saw there was more than evil in
The girl loved a good jest
And mastered spoken word
She studied spells with zest
And fought with bow and sword.
In her twentieth year full-blossomed and beauteous,
Veraka Cursebringer could confuse a philosopher
The strength of three men lay in long limber limbs
Whose grace was as lissome as the lithe lovely elves
Her form in fine fettle and fit for fierce fights
Matched allurement and artistry in all ways but one:
Her impish impulsiveness impaired her good judgment
No noble would note her for wisdom uncommon
Despite the keen mind she managed within.
It was in this year grave Gorion gave notice
The lass must leave Candlekeep or lose her life
For foul-hearted malefactors would find her or fetch her
Though the codger kept his counsel and couldn't say why.
She chose able chainmail to safeguard her charms
A longbow to let loose a volley of grief
A greatsword she girded, most germane for gore
Full-furnished for battle, she found her foster father
Then she sallied forth, sure-stepping out
She thought she was prepared
As she stepped through the gate
Gorion was rightly scared
As he approached his fate.