I dueled a man in light brown robes,
a man who'd done me wrong.
What he'd done's another tale,
a tale that's much too long.

Suffice to say that Woret,
as this goodly knave was known,
would soon meet my swift justice,
as the paper wraps the stone.

"The battle's almost done!" I crowed,
"I've won!" or so I thought,
until I stumbled over roots
on which my foot had caught!

He stabbed me, chopped me, stabbed again,
without riposte from me!
I very nearly lost my life
to Woret. Damn that Tree!

Alas, poor Woret! I slew him well
and bent to loot his corpse,
and then the damn-ed Tree did do
a thing from which my mind still warps!

Its roots did tear the ground asunder,
pulling Woret under, under!
It stole my just reward from me,
it did! O Auvach! Blast that Tree!

Beneath the Tree I stood, dumbfounded,
clutched my heart; with rage it pounded!
My anger all but taken wing,
I stopped... "Aha! The spade's the thing!"

The gardener's shovel did the trick
as well as any skaven pick.
With grim visage, I pierced the soil,
hoping to reward my toil.

The Tree cried "Foul!" at this intrusion,
its grim intent was no illusion!
It snatched me, threw me in its trunk,
closed up behind me with a thunk!

I screamed as burning acid seeped,
Like a gnomish bag of tea I steeped
inside that wooden kettle fell:
the damn-ed Ancient Tree from Hell!

I woke up naked, scorched and burned.
I know not how or why luck turned,
but by my missing pike and helm
I swear, somehow, I'd left the realm!

I heaved a sigh of great relief,
of coins and armor lost (what grief!),
but thanked whatever gods may be
for keeping my life from that Tree!