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Since I was tiered of the normal ways of writing back stories, and I was feeling "creative" I decided to make a bastardized form of Edgar Allen Poes famous poem "The Raven" for one of my characters in a super villain game. The set-up that the GM has made for us is that a shadowy organisation has recruited us, either at gunpoint of by some other offer we can't refuse. The char is "Cuerva" a girl who can turn into a flock of birds at will. (Yes for those who know me I'm still playing mostly female chars)
I will make excuses for it. I'm in no way a poet, having studied natural sciences all through life and never done nor read up on poetry during this time. I'm also not a native English speaker.
There are repetitions in this text, but be aware that they are meant to be there. The Raven carried a lot of repetitions and I simply tried to stay in the spirit of the original.
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Once upon a midnight dreary on a dance floor, weak and weary,
surrounded by the shapes of many pimp and whore;
From a Goth boys neck a' tapping, small rivulets of blood a' lapping,
his loving arms around her wrapping,
wrapping,
their fetish "so hardcore".
"I want you bad" she whispered, to drumming beats hardcore.
Only this and nothing more.
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
and each separate Goth-club member cast his form on upon the floor.
Vainly she dispelled the morrow, haughtily, she sought to borrow,
from "The E" surcease of sorrow,
sorrow,
from those times of yore.
For this darkly smiling maiden, things would not be like before.
Nameless here for evermore.
And the malice clad sensation rolling to each good vibration
thrilled her - filled her with fantastic visions
never felt before.
So that now, to still the aching in her loins she stood repeating.
"Let's head elsewhere where it is private and secure,
some dark and solemn room nearby that is private and secure.
Let's start with that, and maybe more."
Not long ago, naught but a stranger, not perceiving hidden danger.
"Girl" he said, "I hear ya'. Your style is one that I adore.
And the room back there is silent, so that if you like it violent,
you can scream until you're night spent, lying bent upon the floor.
Let's enjoy this night together"
- here he opened wide the door.
A storeroom there, and nothing more.
Deep into the darkness moving, each others clothes they start removing.
Searching, finding things about each other never known before.
And the silence was now broken, words in lustful whispers spoken,
no one heard the heavy oaken window above lovers roar.
It creaked slightly open, a murmured voice said "Score..."
Only this and nothing more.
The dance floor still behind them churning, her mind from ecstasy is burning.
Soon again the window opened somewhat greater than before.
"Surely" he heard, "Surely you don't need to be here.
At gunpoint I make it quite clear, your life's not worth this whore.
Get your clothes and back away, your life's not worth this whore.
Find other prey upon the floor.
Here swung open wide the shutter and down amongst the storeroom clutter
came a man all dressed in black, clearly of high décor.
In no way aggressive did he, gesture with the gun and then the
Goth-boy fled, leaving the girl, upon the concrete floor.
Naked, helpless, sitting there, upon the concrete floor.
An angry frown was all she wore.
"What?!" she said. "You've got guts. - rapist, robber, surely nuts.
It matters little though, why you'd go through this chore.
No matter what you came to do, I can't care less 'bout why and who.
The horror that you will go through, upon this concrete floor.
I hope that you have said goodbye to the life you knew before.
This is it forevermore.
Presently the air grew denser, perfumed by an unseen censer,
as naked girl rose to her feet and prepared for all out war.
"Wait" he cried, "my employer sent me, with a message that you must see.
Salvation -salvation from the crimes that you have done before!
A 'royal' pardon for all crimes, that you have done before.
That is it and nothing more.
"Salvation..." she said "sweet word indeed, tell me now or you will bleed.
You still deserve a proper slashing, but pray tell me more."
In response the man took out a small notebook and told about,
a hidden place a concealed route and the things that were in store.
He told her of the many things that his employer had in store.
A single page away he tore.
"Let these words be our sign of parting, bird or fiend." he said departing.
"Get yourself back to the Goth-club, and its wild and churning floor.
You have your ticket to salvation, and you know of our location
You have received our invitation, and it is one you can't ignore.
Make your choice within a week, or go back to days of yore."
Quoth the maiden "Nevermore".
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