And He Got His Ass Kicked

It was just like a normal night in the tavern, bustling with peasants and farmers enjoying a nice mug of ale and friendly banter amongst themselves.

And then he rose, almost overturning the wooden table.

‘Hear me, folks.’ , he cried. Which most did, putting down their mugs and turning to him.

‘I am a little drunk, and I find that I come up with the best poems when I am in such a state. As such, I just had this poem which I want to share with you all. If you like it, please tell me so, if you do not like it, please tell me so too.’, he chuckled.

A few nodded their heads, as afterall having someone recite a poem or singing a song was a common after meal entertainment.

And so he recited his poem. It was not that bad, but it was not that great either. At the end, there were a few scattered applauses, but the rest just chuckled, for the poem did not stir their hearts nor warm their blood.

Being the pompous fool that he was, he thought that the scattered applauses were an indication that he was actually very good.

With his ego now greatly inflated, he boasted, ‘Is there anyone who can recite poetry in here? Come forth now. ‘

Nobody bothered nor cared. Thinking that there was nobody able to do it, and with his ego now inflated to mammoth size, he sighed sadly, ‘Since there is nobody that can come forth, it means my poetry is so good that nobody in here can do better! I am that good!’

Then in the dark corner a slender figure rose. The figure slowly walks to the centre, pulling down the cloak, revealing a woman’s face of great beauty. And then in a crystal clarity voice she whispered, ‘I have come forth.’

And then she recited a poem, a poem of long forgotten heroes, a poem of long forgotten heroic deeds, a poem of epic battles, a poem of great sacifices. The whole tavern seemed to hold their breath as they listened intendly, and when she finally finished reciting, everyone jumped up in unison and cheered and clapped. A few wiped the tears off their eyes amidst the cheering. This was a poem that filled their hearts with great sorrow, yet also stirred their blood with epic battles and filled them with hope.

And when the cheering and clapping died down, people started to remember that pompous fool who just a few minutes before was claiming he was the greatest. They looked around and found he had already sneaked off into the night.

A farmer muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be overhead, ‘And he got his ass kicked.’