Though these are tales of different days,
Of a tower and a cavern dark,
In one wizard’s mind they are connected,
Linked by memory’s bright spark.
“Oh dear,” he cried aloud, aghast,
“You are my errand boy,
A faithful lad, a courier quick,
Whose services I did employ.
“I remember that last mission,
The task which sent you away,
I remember each and every detail
As if it were just yesterday.”
“Well your memories do nothing to help me,”
The angry hog-man spat,
“Unless you happen to remember a cure,
‘twould be helpful, that.”
And so the wizard pondered,
Wracked his racing mind,
Tried to think of any reason
For the man’s bestial decline.
It cannot be a simple spell,
Not an incantation nor curse,
It could maybe be an ensorcellment,
But I’m not sure how that works.
It must then be a potion,
Why yes, that is the fact!
From the words in this man’s diary
The change was slow to act.
“I think I have an answer!
Or at least a helpful clue.
I assume it was a potion
That set this change upon you?”
“But of course it was, foul wizard!
I could have told you that myself!
It was a drink in a rounded bottle,
Plucked from your own shelf.”
“I stole it from the tower,
That monstrosity you made,
I deemed it fit to pilfer
When our wages were delayed.”