The
monastery was located on top of a hill
A gloomy
Gothic structure bereft of frill
Borium and
Truman had to grin and bear
As the trek
to the top was a laborious affair
“Who goes
there?” they heard a voice yell as they reached the last stair. “Tell me who ye
are or ye better say a prayer.”
“Deplorium?”
asked Borium.
“Aye,” came
the reply.
“Deplorium,
it’s Borium.”
From the
shadows
Deplorium
appeared
A wiry
little man with a long ginger beard
With a smile
on his face he stuck out his hand. “What brings you tae oor bonnie land?”
“To tell you
the truth, it wasn’t planned.”
“Nae need
tae explain, cousin. Ah understand.”
“At least with
you I don’t have to pretend. Deplorium, I’d like you to meet Truman. Brother
and friend.”
Deplorium
greeted Truman with a firm handshake
Causing
Truman to grimace from the unpleasant ache
“Ah’m sure
we’ll get on just fine,” said Deplorium. “Any friend o’ Borium is a friend o’
mine. Would ye both like some ale before we dine?”
Borium and
Truman nodded their heads
“After that
ah’ll organise some beds.”
After many a
pail of strong dark ale
And some
bread and a boiled neep
Borium and
Truman retired for some much needed sleep
But
Deplorium was one who hardly slept
And out of
the monastery he deftly crept
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