The Ballad of the Ride That Would Never Be

Smell the foul gas, ignited with a flash.
Down into a hole, without any hope,
buried to my withers, and with poison shivers.
Pray to the Gods, for a chance to survive.

She came,
You rang! I'm Mercy and Light! Do you want a good smite?
A quick death, a ride, or a another chance at life?
Hesitant I was, but I still feel replete?
Choices so vague, and with a hint of defeat.
A ballad and a ride, however, I could not subside.
No saddle, She said, and the temptations declined.

Again I prayed, Any else take Her place,
Alone in a shaft, with a gnome, a gas, and a Nalasul.
You may take a guess, you may pretend,
But only one finger She wanted, and I had eleven;
Out of the sack, came a finger of someone else lack,
To Her surprise, this passant, would get what he'd want.
Still She wanted a ball'ad, of a Goddess so gallant,
of a Mercy savvant.

It was so out of place, on such a pretty face,
the grin still haunts, even when lost in the swamps.
But as a tree, alive and as harpy feed,
I could not face to be.
The choice wasn't strife, a pen for a life.

Tales of the Goddess, abound and unfound,
I'm here to tell you first hand, She's
far from ordinary and farther from bland.
A snap of the finger, was all it would take,
to send me below, and out of the shake.
The is all I know, of the Goddess profound.
So if you're wandering around, carry an extra finger,
and don't fall in the ground!