Choose Your Own
In twinning towns of mage and knight
One may find darkness, the other, light.
In Sword lies a fountain in a central courtyard,
Its water can cleanse any blade, be it marred
By the blood of an orc, a troll, or a demon,
And will sharpen its edge for much further reapin'.
Amid the masses of fencers and fighters
Walked a woman in red. And just like a spider
She carried eight swords, and could draw them as quickly
As if she had eight limbs—a talent so nifty.