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Blood and Salt - Indrajit's Story (light-hearted)

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The Cimmeria Wiki awards this story the Weekly Feature Award!
--MaeHaftahurcha 02:48, 14 June 2008 (UTC)

Blood and Salt (Dr. Seuss remix)

by Indrajit


He was born on a ship on a dark rainy night,
With splashulous, brumerish waves left and right.
His mother looked down and beamishly grinned,
"Here's born the best who'll ever have sinned."

They sailed on the sea
With a piratesome glee
And seadogs like black-hearted Walder Magee
Did wail when they saw them and promptly did flee.

Then came a brumulous cumberish man,
With dark beady eyes and a terrible plan.
He tricked them and trapped them and caught them in chains,
This fellow named Bok who was more brawn than brains.

Bok laughed as he said with a skeevious smile,
"You won't be sailing these seas for a while.
You're my slaves, don't you know it, as bound as can be,
And you've no chance of finding a way to be free."

Indrajit said,
His eyes turning red,
"Oh I'll see you dead,
On deck or in bed."

But there came only laughter, mocking and bright,
For the giant named Bok felt no fear and no fright.
He made them both serve - the boy pirate in chains,
While the boy's mother danced to sexoforous strains.

But the boy pirate was clever and cunning and sharp,
And knew to play a heart's strings like a harp.
He bowed and he danced and he served Bok's own girl child,
And the nights that they spent were oilishously wild.

He started enslaved,
But slowly she caved,
Till passions unstaved
Made it him that she craved.

And then on a boomulous, flashingsome night,
When stormclouds had gathered to hide the moon's light,
The girl child slipped drugs into Bok's favorite wine,
And Indrajit prepared to deal with the swine.

Bok woke with a start and a gasp and a groan,
His words started roaring but became a meak moan.
For there stood the boy pirate free and well-armed,
With Bok's own fair daughter so thoroughly charmed.

With a knife to Bok's throat,
Indrajit did then gloat,
"You swineous stoat,
I'm taking your boat."

What followed was a frightening, sanguinish thing,
The sort of dark story of which bards never sing.
At the end of it all, big Bok was quite dead,
With Indrajit's mother quite still on the bed.

Bok's daughter was given to the crew as a prize,
And paid for her father's black sins with her cries.
The boy pirate leaped into the oily black sea
And promised himself that he'd always be free.

And where is he now, this pirateish son?
Why there's a Cabal and of them he is one.
He walks in the light under Stygian sun,
But it's in the hard shadows that his real work is done.

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