A Visit from St. Cuthbert (aka ’Twas the Night Before Gaming)
St. Cuthbert of Greyhawk
’Twas the night before gaming,
and all through the castle
not a beastie was stirring,
nor nary a vassal.
All the spadroons
lay stacked by the lair,
in hopes that St. Cuthbert
soon would be there;
The goblins lay drunk
atop of their beds,
While visions of raiding
stole through their heads;
Mama sheathed her blades
in scabbards with a slap,
While I tugged down on
my helm’s arming cap.
While out in the bailey
there arose such a clatter,
I sprang up with my sword
to spy what had been shattered.
Away to a turret
I darted in a flash,
then charged to the gatehouse
when I heard another clash.
World of Greyhawk boxed set, 1983
The moon on the grounds
of my illustrious keep,
Revealed everything before me
leaving no place to creep.
Then, what should my darting eyes embrace
But a figure in full plate and swinging a mace,
With a lengthy mustache and eyes hard as chert
I knew right away it must be St. Cuthbert,
Who reared back his head and glared at the sky,
lifted his mace and let forth a great cry,
“Come! Ehlonna, Nerull, Pholtus and Kord!
Boccob and Hextor and Vecna and Pelor!
“To this house we approach
with hammer and sword,
so the dice may roll well
and the players never grow bored!”
Kord, Greyhawk god of strength
Then one by one
did the gods of Greyhawk appear,
from the brightest of the bright
to those who spread fear.
Over walls and through windows
did they stealthily glide,
and into my castle and home
they moved from outside.
As I drew back my head,
and was turning around,
bursting through a doorway
came Cuthbert with a bound.
Behind him strode the others,
those deities of old Oerth,
good and evil, side by side,
each sharing in their worth.
Iuz, the Old One, of the World of Greyhawk
At the sight my hands did shake
and my knees they did shiver,
I nearly dropped my trusty sword
and felt a pain in my liver!
But the saint gave a broad smile
and moved to my gaming table,
where he unburdened himself
with items from out of fable.
Laid down were several tomes
each dusty and leather-bound,
then bags of new dice spilled
and not a one touched the ground.
And atop all this mass,
my favorite edition of D&D,
and resting next to those books
loot from the store at Nerdarchy.
The other gods came forward,
each bearing some kind of present,
even their worst left behind something,
though it wasn’t always pleasant.
They spoke not a word
but soon turned away,
having piled books, dice and minis
as if some gaming buffet.
Then only Cuthbert remained,
a twinkle in his eye
as he reached for my table
and turned over a die.
But then he shifted away
and no more did appear,
that mightiest of strangers
wearing the knightliest of gear.
Staring at the new games he’d left,
I let out a great whistle,
my heart so full of joy
I wish I could cast Magic Missle.
Then out on the yard
I heard a rumbling voice,
to hear it I must
for I had no other choice.
“May all your dice roll true,”
I heard the saint say with plenty,
“and in the coming year
may you roll only Natural Twenty!”
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