A Hard Brew and a Flurry of Fear

To sway a monk master

Could lead to disaster,

But some monks can sway in return—

And later rebound

With glorious sound

So those that refused would return—

Thus, just teachings hold true

And may garnish stale brew

Which waits for his final——
 
A disruption of meter or rhyme can often be used as a point of emphasis, and I've seen many bards use this technique in their writing; a mighty hero's sonnet gets cut short as they meet their untimely end in a dragon's maw; or perhaps the tragic, wayward jester—while tempting the affections of a lady—trips over an intended rhyme the moment his pants comically fall down. This deviation of pattern in poetry can oftentimes be a representation of extraordinary, unexpected events that force themselves into our lives while we attempt to exist in normalcy. However, at the moment, my existence is anything but normal, so I am not sure if what I perceive to be extraordinary events are, indeed, extraordinary, or if they are simply glimpses of the ordinary, peculiar only in contrast to my typically unusual experience. So I am unsure if I should begin by saying something extraordinary happened today, or by saying something ordinary happened today, and which would be a more surprising statement given the occurrences of the past few months of my life.
 
Something happened today. Hjlogarn came to me asking for advice on charming a romantic interest, which was odd, but I think he came to me in earnest; my inclusion in his schemes may have simply been a charitable gesture, though he was likely very desperate as well. I proposed that he talk to the lady of his desires, Tyjit, about her interests—which he claimed were "daggers"—and that perhaps they could also share a drink. I gave him the two portions of brew I had received from Deigon prior and began writing a short poem which I gave to Hjolgarn the following morning. To my surprise, he performed the piece right in front of her, and for a moment I felt the familiar chagrin associated with failed writing. Tyjit immediately stormed off, clearly abashed at his sudden vagary. I am not sure if the fault lay in my poem or his performance, but he was later able to gain her affections when he sung the poem to her instead, which just furthers my confusion.
 
On the way to Dragonspear, we saw a very large deer with a golden coat and platinum antlers. We decided to follow the strange creature into the forsaken ruins of what seemed to be some sort of ancient manor. Upon entering, we saw a naked and perturbed Elven man, who spoke in a language that had similarities to the Elvish taught to me, but with a perplexing dialect. This man with no name claimed to be a prince, cursed—by the father of his lover—into the golden stag we were chasing before. During the conversation, Dillion pulled out a cameo of an odd-looking woman, a memento of his mother who died when he was young, and the man reacted quite strongly to the image, claiming this woman to be the last person he saw before the curse, in what is left of his nebulous memory. We are now taking this man to Waterdeep to seek a cure, perhaps from powerful wizards, I am not sure.
 
When we finally arrived at the desolate remains of Dragonspear castle, we saw a stationary horse near the entrance and Eilyse found drag marks nearby. The castle itself was filled with an abundance of hoary webs and we soon found ourselves in combat with swarms of spiders, two of them being the giant monstrosities of which I had only read about. I was nastily bitten during the fight, which caused me to lose my grasp of the magical brace that restrains my overwhelming fear. When this happened, I found myself covered head to toe with crawling, biting spiders, and I fortunately had the quick sense to reject them by redirecting the internal, screaming terror I felt in my mind, outward, towards them. My hopes that they be sent straight to perdition came true, as they died soon after, and I then took a moment to recuperate.
 
Afterwards, the "something" happened: we found a man—who apparently Deigon, Godfrey, and Dillion know—caught in a mass of webs. Then, Hjolgarn left us. Hjolgarn left us, entirely. Is this something that people do? They simply leave when they decide to leave and no amount of repulsive vociferation can stop them? What could I have done for Addison? What could we have done for Hjolgarn? I do not know. But I wish to know—and I wish for every spider, and sibling, and sapling to understand, and rejoice, and fear as each other do in a thread of knowing. That is the Poem.
 
[The poem below is written in slightly smaller script, next to which the phrase "In Memoriam" is crossed out.]
 
The monk with addiction to brew,

Had at this point drunk quite a few—

He looked pretty bold,

Though not very old—

I hope his monk teachings hold true!