The Dead Three (Epic)

See the author's note for definitions related to this poem.

In decades past there reigned a god
His fiefdom spanned all discord
This sovreign of the dead's domain
Kept the bridge that crossed the ford

The path hight death all men must trek
To reach their place by Jergal's side
To rotting god of death's embrace
They all must come and abide

As all things die they all must come
Under his thumb upon their death
His power grew as each expired
As each one cast their dying breath

But with his power languor grew
As his strength could smite all trials
For what is life devoid of tests
But many long and weary miles?

On Faerun then a pact was made
Amidst Myrkul and Bane and Bhaal
Mortals who yearned for Jergal's rule
His fiefdom, his wealth, and his hall

Among themselves, they all three swore
To quest for the god-king's power
Despite all foes, against the odds
Until that glorious hour

When they would come to his throneroom
And gaze on the god's ashen face
And cast him from the Bone Throne
And rule over all the Grey Wastes

Across the Realms the three ventured
Ever seeking to grow in might
To amass the strength they would need
To assail the kingdom of night

Despite the odds they always rose
From battles they always emerged
Their prowess and strength swelled daily
Like a mighty black ocean surge

They vanquished one of the Seven
Former gods whose worship had ceased
Devouring his divine essence
Absorbing each lingering piece

Then to the Grey Wastes they quested
To finish the pact they had sealed
Denying their places as mortals
With magic and cold ruthless steel

Through waves of undead they battled
Through lichs and zombies and ghasts
Carving a path of destruction
Across the whole length of the vast

Dread, bleak, and unyielding landscape
No servants of Jergal could pose
The slightest hint of obstacle
To the might of their doughty blows

At long length they entered the halls
And stood before Jergal's white throne
The end of their quest reached at last
Within the grim fortress of bone

Bane the tyrant claimed the great throne
And Bhaal the assassin was wroth
And claimed the Bone Throne would be his
Whatever the risk or the cost

While Myrkul the necromancer
Prepared a hot fiery blast
It appeared battle was certain
From reaching this fearsome impasse

But Jergal arose from the throne
His shoulders were slumped in relief
For he would gain nothing but freedom
From such an unruly defeat

He offered up his whole kingdom
Every vestage of his great might
The trio stood in dumbfoundment
Unable to grasp the strange sight

"As your seneschal I will serve"
The dread king made his fell offer
"For I grow weary of this post's
Meaningless servants and coffers

You need only decide which one
Will rule here in my place
And I will serve until he knows
The dictates of his chosen state"

Upon these words, the trio fell
Into a battle most savage
The lord of death stood on and watched
As their blows threatened to ravage

All they had quested and sought for
To end on the point of a sword
All their hopes, goals, and ambitions
Until finally the dread lord

Stepped forward at last to chide them
"Are you three fools to cast away
All that you have fought and bled for
With this inane and loutish fray?

Why not engage in games of skill
And divide the spoils amongst you
So each might gain some small return
And all receive fair due?"

So to each he gave a lich skull
So they could bowl across the waste
And determine which would succeed
And finally take Jergal's place

Malar the Beastlord saw the match
And quickly espied its meaning
He set at once after the skulls
The players had sent careening

The Black Blooded Pard was eager
To insure his place in the game
That the three might not be alone
In garnering claim to the gains

Their contest ruined and disrupted
The three fell to fighting again
A hopeless eternal battle
That not one could possibly win 

Once more the dread lord intervened
To bring the three back to their senses
Their fight was stayed with his fell voice
But each kept to his defenses

"If games of skill cannot decide"
Jergal said in impatient tones
Perhaps Lady Luck should adjudge
The winner with a game of bones"

The three consented yet again
To permit fate to judge the outcome
And Jergal broke his finger bones
Handing each an index or thumb

Malar returned from chasing skulls
To find the game was completed
Once more the Beastlord lost his chance
Without ever being defeated

Victorious Bane leaped to his feet
Declaring his right to the spoils
"I stake my claim to rule over
Tyranny and all of its toils!"

Sly Myrkul had won second place
But his cunning outweighed his luck
"I will rule o'er all that is dead
And so it is I who have struck

The purest of luck and riches
For all things that live must die
And all the creatures that you rule
Will enter my realm and reside"

Bhaal had been silent while they spoke
He who received the last place
But now he arose to his feet
With a smile of glee on his face

"I lay claim to that which is left
To be ruler over all death
I will become Lord of Murder
The one who steals mortals' last breathes

So it is I who truly won
For it will be my right to choose
When a mortal gives up his life
To enter the land of grey hues

So I can destroy the kingdom
By slaying the subjects of Bane
Or I can starve Myrkul's fiefdom
By refusing to grant the slain

And so to me you must bow down
Pay homage while prone on your knees
For I am the clear chosen victor
The one you must always appease"

And so the Dead Three gods were born
With the least greatest among them
Able to sap the others' strengths
At nothing but his fickle whim

The Dead Three ruled for many years
But even gods are not assured
To kept their realms safe from mortals
Always seeking new realms to procure

Perhaps the only true victor
Was Jergal who chose to step down
For freedom he gained from his choice
To finally law down his crown