Rana's Mirthless Malady

Deep in the hills, where the shadows loom, Lived King Rana, in a castle of gloom. Once he roared with laughter, hearty and loud, But a curse had left him quiet and cowed. No giggles, no chuckles, no joyous mirth, Just grim, solemn silence filled his hearth.

His people had tried, both sages and seers, To lift the curse that haunted his years. Yet none could undo the spell’s cruel embrace, So Rana sought goblins—a last, desperate case.

For goblins were known for their fairy-tied lore, Their mischief and magic could open new doors. Through whispers and tales of their cunning delight, He ventured to seek them by moon’s silver light.

“Rana the Grim!” the goblins declared, “A king without laughter—how utterly impaired!” Through the woods, with their sly, quirky knack, They came to Rana, with a plan to crack.

No riddles or jokes could break his spell, So they cooked up a cure—humiliating as well. A goblin snatched the king’s royal cloak, Another teased him with a daisy poke.

They made Rana dance in his underpants, While singing off-key in a goblin trance. King Rana, stripped of pride, looked absurd, And the throne room filled with laughter, disturbed.

The spell was shattered, his chuckles returned, But at a cost—his dignity burned.

Darkness fell after their mischievous feat, For Rana’s revenge came swift and complete. Humiliated, the king’s heart turned cold, His laughter now sharp, his wrath uncontrolled.

“Chase them!” he roared, with a furious might, “The goblins will pay for my shameful plight!” His armies marched with torches ablaze, Through forests and caves, in a vengeful haze.

The goblins fled from their homes of old, As Rana’s forces grew fierce and bold. Their laughter extinguished, their mischief suppressed, The goblins now wandered, homeless, oppressed.

But goblins are crafty, when their hearts filled with ire, And they plotted revenge with a spark to inspire. Through the hills, they schemed in the night, Seeking to turn their anguish to might.

Rana's stronghold, proud and tall, Had one weak point—a sally port small. Through that unguarded gateway they crept, Silent as shadows, while the dwarves slept.

Vengeful and bold, they struck their blow, Trapping the dwarves in the castle below. With torches aflame and laughter to ring, They burned the stronghold—an end to the king.

Now Rana’s folly, his prideful disdain, Left ashes where his castle had lain. The goblins emerged from the smoke and the dark, Their spirits rekindled, their vengeance a spark.

Amid the ruins, where embers still glowed, The goblin chief stood, his burden showed. He gazed at the wreckage, the lives torn apart, And a heavy regret weighed down his heart.

"We struck with fury, with vengeance untamed, But what have we gained, what have we claimed? In proving our might, we’ve darkened our name, And dwarves will forever recall us with blame."

But goblins are clever, with hands quick and spry, They rebuilt the stronghold beneath the gray sky. Stone by stone, with a mischievous flair, They crafted a haven beyond compare.

Once Rana’s palace, it now stood renewed, A goblin home where laughter ensued. Their songs filled the halls, their joy claimed the night, A fortress of mirth, their beacon of light.