Know ye that Maglor is neither blind, nor deaf
As the party stands before the Drow cave, Maglor speaks.
I call upon all to remember
When we espied the Drider
Near the poisoned well
When first we began our hearty association;
Even then, we did speculate
As to the dark hand that did guide the evil;
And, look ye now!
Have our fears not been confirmed?
Truly, now that we know a part of our enemy
To be drowish demons
We, at least, may take heart that one small facet of our enemy is revealed;
But there is another enemy that Maglor fears...
And it has a name: treachery!
Think ye not that Maglor is unaware
Of the whispered dissensions,
The beginnings of plots,
And the shaking of heads,
Within this mighty band;
In truth, Maglor knows much more than ye might surmise;
Maglor peers into each face, squinting, in the hopes of discerning some truth...
Of this company, I have many thoughts...
Of my General, Spag the mighty,
I do believe Maglor need fear nothing;
Though prone is he, to shake his head at Maglor's plots and plans,
There is no force in this earthly plane
That might move him to treachery!
Nor within Maglor's fair cousin, Kyililiana,
Will Maglor believe a trace of malice could ever linger....
The bard's expression turns sly...
But of ye others....
True-hearted Grimbergen would never move to treachery,
But he is so true that he may not recognize falseness,
And thus, be swayed to evil,
Though he believe it to be good;
And Malcolm, in his timid kindness,
May settle for a lesser good than his courage might otherwise claim,
Nor doth Maglor neglect the scheming and secretive Polradia!
Of late, she hath removed herself from the company of our fellowship,
To what purpose, none can fully claim knowledge, save she;
And the love lost 'twixt Maglor and Polradia is not small;
And the scheming counsellor Moonbeam,
Who ever doth hold his thoughts close to his hauberk;
He claims, "I have no ambition for power;"
And holds grief for his human wife as evidence to this;
But Maglor knows much of grief and ambition....
Lastly, Maglor's thoughts do rest on the stony dwarvish warrior that, of late, hath joined our confederacy;
Plain-spoken is he!
The better to hide his guile, sayeth Maglor!
Which of these will be the one to lovingly draw a blade across Maglor's throat one night?
The bard looks again, at each of them, in turn, then speaks slowly and softly
Hark ye well: when the blade is unsheathed for Maglor's blood,
Know that he will not resist;
Love, Maglor's guiding light, will not allow it....
Maglor casts his eyes skyward, arms flung wide....
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