O'er the open waves of sea,
Plagueis' forces swarmed to see,
How many troops would halt their advance,
laughing, "hope they wore their brown pants."
For the clan was darkness to a tee.
The spray of salt washed o'er them all,
but it would be iron they desired to fall,
crimson rivers staining durasteel floors.
The enemy waited, "come at us ye boars!"
So began the forgotten War of the Leering Calls.
Plagueis struck their main defense,
"Were that your intelligence naught but a pretense,'"
Drawing looks of major ire.
The defenders returned with equal tempers of fire:
"Your dastardly assumptions lack pure sense!"
In a rage the Plagueians swept them aside with a rallying Huh!
"Tell your matronly forebears that we know of their works, they are but wh-"
The defenders rallied their own lines, cutting off the Plagueis flanking,
"Oh what a shame, were your own mothers here, they'd give such a spanking!"
"Our mothers are all dead, why do you think we are dark, duh?"
The sun flew across the sky that day as jeers and insults flew,
With Plagueis gaining ground by calling their enemies' manhood meters too few.
The defenders had no retort until their champion came to save,
A man of strength and in bad need of shave.
Plagueis sent their own, one Kul'tak the True.
The defender's hero, a giant named Brevallo, cried aloud:
"We send forth a warrior and they send a lout!
One of soft nature and as faint as a fairy!
Why would I fight against one who appears to me as a soft berry!"
Struck accordingly, Kul fled, crying in his shame with a weak "meow."
And so Plagueis fled that day,
But with a grudge to one day surely pay.
Their greatest warriors quickly began the work of penning great taunts of import,
Lest they find themselves once again fall short.
Kul was cast down in iniquity, stripped of title and forever known as the Gray.