Reply With QuoteThere once was a young thief named Garrett,
If it wasn't nailed down then he'd have it,
Costly goods he would fence,
for a few measly cents,
Thus his rental arrears became habit.
Greetings, taffers. I am writing a book of poetry inspired mainly by Thief: The Dark Project and fan missions. The book is titled "Secluded Realms". My primary intention behind this volume is to evoke dark, grim, medieval, and sinister atmosphere characteristic of The Dark Project OMs (not so much The Metal Age). You can expect many spiral staircases, dark cobblestone streets, dimly lit mansions, remote tombs, haunted churches, and disused mine shafts. The book is also meant to be a homage to a large number of fan creations. I derive my inspiration from the levels made by early era authors (1999-2002) such as Purah, Sperry, kfgecko, Sharga, Gonchong, Banshee, or xarax, but also later DromEDers like BBB (RIP), skacky, StinkyKitty, Melan, DirkBogan, and Schlock.
That being the case, "Secluded Realms" can be enjoyed by the readers who are not familiar with Thief at all. Please note that in order to avoid any possible copyright issues, the poems in the published version will reference original Thief themes only indirectly (so e.g. no Hammerites or the Builder).
The book will be published early in 2023.
Some samples (work in progress, some words and titles may change):
The Twilight
The Haunted Cathedral
Alcazar-ish Mine
Saint Allan's Eve
Last edited by Aemanyl; 21st Dec 2022 at 03:57.
There once was a young thief named Garrett,
If it wasn't nailed down then he'd have it,
Costly goods he would fence,
for a few measly cents,
Thus his rental arrears became habit.
Captain Davidson knows the ways of a ship
Woke up out of bed and felt sick
smoked a pinch of red spice from a dish
everything was calm and relaxed even the fish
Now I really want to know how you pronounce "Garrett".Originally Posted by Purgator
To be sure, with a soft oirish brogue dat would charm the birds out of the trees!
Looking forward to your book release Aemanyl!
Dewdrop a pagan doll from the greens
Early he rose from a dream
Waking in the hands of a man named garrett
Defensive was the way of his walk
Reclusive i felt of the loss of lily
Oasis in the distance of time
Protective of this companion of mine
Vines grow through the maw up high
Interstellar stars glide through the glade canopy sky
Kingdoms rise and fall through out the day
Traveling deep into the mountain pass
Opening a mysterious keeper glyph
Reveling something from the book of shadows
Icebergs create walls of shear heights
Another day walking in the woods at night
Thank you, Purgator. Downwinder, great imagery in your poems. Perhaps you could work a bit on better rhymes and syllable count, however.
it was my very first attempt,i knew it was very rookie,but thank you
I'd like to share a new poem inspired by Garrett's apartment in Deadly Shadows, Gamall, and Shalebridge Cradle.
Very cool. Somehow they remind me of the Romantic poets. And Clark Ashton Smith! I really like the Alcazar-ish Mine.
Thank you very much! I have not read Clark Ashton Smith yet, but I derive inspiration from the works of H. P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe.
Someone on this forum a few years ago wrote a Thief related TV or movie script. I remember getting a copy to read but I lost it with a hard drive crash. Can't remember who it was that wrote it but the concept was interesting ... At least as far as I was able to read. Thief related stories are always fun to read.
A new poem inspired by Melan's "Rose Garden":
Wilted Roses
The bone-chilling wind rushes through the night
As it picks up unspoken lies and cries
Carrying them high to the frost-cold skies
To be torn apart by the air’s raw might
Spectral hosts of icy autumnal gale
Rattle mercilessly the alehouse sign
A warm shelter where weather is benign
And glum ruminations cease to assail
Restless like a nocturnal beast of prey
The wind snakes around dark, unpaved alleys
Finding its path like creeks in strait valleys
Dousing candles where the pious monks pray
Swarming up the rooftops and looming spires
It sheds off brown leaves from almost bare trees
In a remote garden where lovers squeeze
And braziers blaze with Sibylline fires
Playing hide and seek in a tall hedge maze
The stiff wind turns into a balmy breeze
As the swains in a fiery embrace freeze
Cloaked by love’s forgetfulness like a haze
In an eerie silence that soon follows
A lonesome nightjar sings ominously
While the wind chimes ring mysteriously
And strange croaks come from the unknown hollows
In the first days of winter’s dreadful reign
Only the faint scent of wilted roses
Can recall those delightful reposes
That heralded long months of the heart’s pain
Last edited by Aemanyl; 11th Sep 2022 at 20:38.
I already love this thread. Aemanyl, you're a poetic wizard. Can't wait for it to be finished.
Downwinder, you're a fun dude taking a crack at it, but I'll add to the stories for fun also.
Mad at the builders false worshippers
Eager Dewdrop became a maw wine sipper
Changing its own face to something sinister
Hurried Garrett away, for agains he hearsies infested Maws
And upon the weak attackers, ones by ones they falls
Never to come back, the Pagans stoodsies talls
Instilling fear as a scarecrow for the rest of its days
Sad Lilly could never get away from the fray
Taking the builders "people" one by one forever to pay
Claiming the Infested Maws as his own
Originating from a greedy tone
No mere mortal shall dare defy
So shall it be it their eye
Tainted wine had some ill effects
And Viktoria? What'd you expect
None shall pass the centaur steed
Tricksters need more power to feed
Infesting the world with all his rituals in place
Never shall he return to grace
Ending in a bang from Garrett's switching haste
Last edited by Phantom0914; 23rd Sep 2022 at 10:11. Reason: I'd never spell Garret wrong. Only Taffers and the vileous weeds spell so...
Both were good, but this was my favorite of the two. Nice imagery, and not all 'poetry' has to rhyme.
Here is a new poem inspired mainly by "Shadow of Doubt" and "Whistling of the Gears" fan missions for Thief 1.
The Night-crawler
It is beyond a shadow of a doubt
That the wheels of progress shall never stop
Though men of science have not yet found out
Why from holy statues tears of blood drop
The electric lights are the new magic
That brightens the dark alleys of the mind
Some say the end of this will be tragic
This is the truth to which the world seems blind
Crawling through the night like a rooftop cat
A hooded rogue always lives on the edge
For he trims the city’s excessive fat
Whenever he walks the law’s narrow ledge
His silent feet prowl the wards of the rich
Leaving trail of mud on their fine silk rugs
As a muffled chant of dolorous pitch
Coming from those who wear nothing but rags
And when the dead of night bechills the streets
In pitch-black lanes conspiracies are born
Like a phantom the larcenist retreats
Back into the musty ratholes forlorn
amazing work all i am impressed
The following shorter poem has been inspired by many prison-themed missions I have played throughout the years. I dedicate it to Downwinder.
Damnation
Dumped deep into the dungeons of durance
Outlaws are confined in tenebrous cells
Waiting for the gallows without surance
Not living but rotting in these dank wells
Wishing for the death’s scythe to ease their pain
Inmates wretched and sad cough and retch up blood
Nipped by cold and green mold they moan in vain
Deprived of light and sleep they become mad
Even if they could flee this putrid hell
Rumours speak of lightless underground caves
Endlessly winding due to some foul spell
Where unknown horrors lurk in vaulted graves
Here is a new poem inspired by Bonehoard (the title will be changed) and a couple of tomb-raiding FMs such as Valley of the Burned and Catacombs of Knoss.
Down in the Bonehoard
No one knows how lonesome a maverick tomb raider can feel
When faint moonlight no longer illuminates his sturdy rope
As he descends down the catacombs to profane and to steal
Entering the domain of the dead where all men grope for hope
The faint sound of the horn echoes through the halls of deep slumber
Where centuries of dust float across Stygian vaults forlorn
The abode of the burned at the end of a downward clambe
Haunted by the hidden horrors in the human mind unborn
The mournful melody of the horn resounds through dismal tombs
Taming cavernous wild beasts, lulling them into dull repose
Travelling where ghastly silhouettes guard ancient treasure rooms
Deep into the darkest domes with deadly traps the horn’s blare goes
No one knows how lonesome a maverick tomb raider can feel
When he comes out straight into the frosty starlight the next night
Holding the famed horn, under the November moon blue as steel
He slowly heads back to his empty home as the world turns white
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