THE CSIPHERIAD: an epic in verse

City besieged by death and time, once-noble Csipherus,
may you make war eternal on your unrelenting foes.
Stars above, catacombs below, bear witness to a brawl
of valiant friends—the Knight, the Piper, and the Thief—against
vile fiends—the Lich, the Archer, and the Stone. Deserts
had the Knight of Flowers wandered, blade questing for her god.
There she found the Piper playing, undead bodies softly
swaying, swaying to chords unearthly playing, smoky tones
and stranger songs than any answering man or dragon.
He quested for adventure; the Thief quested for revenge.
For the Thief was born of Csipherus and e’er would defend it.
Opposing, the red-eyed Lich would fain drink the city’s hearts
‘til dust and only dust remained. His curse the plague bestowed
death untold, so he might fuel his own immortality. 
The Archer walked in hails of fire, burning sandstorms red.
The Stone, rock come alive, broke the earth with each heavy tread.
Stone and Archer both received fell power from the Lich: life
forever, life unending so long as they might wish
power dearly bought with all the souls of weary Csipherus.
Into the dark pyramid the heroes stole in secret
between hordes of holy dead and countrymen imprisoned,
Lich at the world gate, ever turning desert souls to sacred dust.
The friends stepped forth, much violence in their hearts to do, and
woe bide those red-eyed foes when the Piper spake: “Yoohoo!”
Battle joined, Stone met Knight and Thief faced Archer, skilled alike.
The Piper played a haunting air and the dead listened, rapt,
for though they drew breath no longer, they still knew this song slapped.
The Lich, enraged, held them in a trance, but the Piper’s song
droned along, compelling all unburied corpses to dance.
Dueling her foe, the Knight struck true, her holy sword ablaze 
and the dire Stone first was felled, his body split four ways.
The Thief and Archer fought at distance, cautious of the cost,
dodging barbs and rains of fire, a single misstep lives
forfeit, lost. First verse complete, the Piper took a breath, changed
keys and played an eerie chorus of gray smoke and many
voices singing, winging through his unearthly pipes.
The Knight approached the Archer, readying her strike.
“Hail, fell foe, and look upon thy death in me. Raise thine eyes
benighted, and meet at last your inevitable end.”
At that, her fiery sword burned bright and the Archer beheld
his doom in her. He nocked an arrow, aiming for her heart.
The Thief broke cover, the Lich pointed, lo, a green line
piercing the noble breast of the Thief who’d rushed to save his
friend. He fell, dyeing the hoard’s golden coins red with blood and
longing. Undone, the Knight of Flowers felled the Archer, swift,
and the Piper played his second verse in smoke and anger.
“You’ll regret that,” he said, full sore. “For I am the master
of all songs that are, will be, or ever were, and I demand
an encore.” He played and graveyard smoke descended, trilled, and
ghosts extended from their hidden spaces beyond the veil.
The undead raved, the world gate caved, snapping under music’s
power. The Lich cried out, “How dare you keep me from pressing
Time’s unforgiving hands still?” But the Piper simply smiled,
played skillfully and wild. “Because you could use a thrill.”
The undead raised their arms; they shifted to the right. They danced
back and forth to the rhythm of the night. The Thief rose too,
returned to life by the Piper’s eerie calling, and then the three
joined the dance and smote the Lich in a feat of true pizzazz.
Souls restored, Csipherus cheered, freed at last from foul casters.
Yet, these weary heroes had a final task: return the
city’s riches to its rightful masters. “Take this,” they called
throwing wealth back to the people, “and long may the Jewel of
the Desert shine!” And thus, at last our long tale ends with a
beloved city saved, foes vanquished, and no truer friends.