A taverns tale. The Fair Beast.

**The Ballad of the Fair Beast**

*(An olde travelers' tale, sung low by the fire in a roadside tavern)*

**Verse I**

Come gather ye close, ye weary and worn,

Whilst the tankards still foam and the night is newborn.

I'll spin ye a tale from the far free-lands,

Of a lady most fair with a beast in her hands.

She walketh the roads where the lost ones do roam,

With a heart full of mercy, yet iron in bone.

Her form is pure art, carved by heaven's own blade—

Soft curves and bright eyes that the poets have praised.

**Chorus**

O mark ye her beauty, yet mark it not blind,

For kindness and fury both dwell in her mind.

She healeth the broken, she spareth the meek,

Yet woe to the challenger who dareth her seek.

The lands of the free know her name on the wind:

Fair face, gentle heart... and a beast locked within.

**Verse II**

The sick and the wandering she gathereth near,

With soft-spoken words that can quiet all fear.

Her hands, white as moonlight, restore what was lost,

And many a soul hath been saved at that cost.

But when steel is drawn 'gainst the free and the just,

The kindness doth fade and the beast doth upthrust.

Her eyes turn to storm-fire, her voice to a roar,

And none who oppose her walk upright no more.

**Chorus**

O mark ye her beauty, yet mark it not blind,

For kindness and fury both dwell in her mind.

She healeth the broken, she spareth the meek,

Yet woe to the challenger who dareth her seek.

The lands of the free know her name on the wind:

Fair face, gentle heart... and a beast locked within.

**Verse III**

I've seen her myself on a blood-crimson eve,

When raiders came riding to burn and to thieve.

She stood 'fore the helpless, alone in the fray,

And the night heard her laughter as steel cut its way.

When dawn found the field, only silence remained—

The wicked lay scattered, the innocent saved.

She wiped clean her blade, then knelt by the weak,

And whispered soft comforts with blood on her cheek.

**Bridge**

So drink to the paradox walking the land:

A saint with a sword and a devil's own hand.

If ever ye meet her upon the wild road,

Offer her kindness... or answer the code.

**Final Chorus**

O mark ye her beauty, yet mark it not blind,

For kindness and fury both dwell in her mind.

She healeth the broken, she spareth the meek,

Yet woe to the challenger who dareth her seek.

The lands of the free know her name on the wind:

Fair face, gentle heart... and a beast locked within.

*(Raise your cup, traveler. The tale is told. May the fire keep ye warm, and may ye never meet the wrong side of her smile.)*