Bag of Sticks

I wrote this a while back, while playing my female orc shaman. Even though I was a caster and a hybrid class, it felt silly at the start of battlegrounds to not have any buffs for anyone around me. It gave me an edgy feeling, and eventually I spit out a poem about it. I got some nice feedback from other shamans about it, I hope you enjoy it.

Bag of Sticks

Waiting for war in wintergrasp
A mage of pedigree select
Cast a spell of arcane might
And granted me intellect

A priest in robes of whitest silk
(a very righteous looking dude)
Raised his staff and shouted out
And I was blessed with fortitude

My mind was filled with extra thoughts
My body was bursting with life
I'd never felt so strong and sure -
But still more allies arrived

Two paladins on their chargers rode
Rallying us for the fight
Cheered out fearsome battle cries
And blessed us with wisdom and might

From the shadows to my left
A beast of cunning and guile
Transformed into a tall, wise druid
And Marked me with the Wild

More mages gestured and muttered words
And conjured a feast for us all
And warlocks gave us each healthstones
And anchored souls, should they fall

A rogue whispered "I've got your back"
And twirled daggers in his palms
"Relax friend, I'll clear the road,"
A death knight said with icy calm.

A row of hunters checked their guns,
ammunition, arrows and quivers
And their beasts let out hungry growls
That gave me frightened shivers

A warrior strode out to the front
His face was full of scars
His muscles thick, his armor clawed
From the fight of a hundred wars

"The enemy approaches!" he shouted out
"Prepare to match their rage!"
And a dozen more with axes and shields
Charged out onto the stage

The warrior smiled at his fortified crew
And when he saw me, his smile died
He walked close and grunted through his bulk
"Exactly what help do you provide?"

Surrounded by these adventurers
With their formidable spells and tricks
How was I to match their might
With a simple bag of sticks?

"Nothing." I said honestly
"There is nothing I can give,
But if you trust in my abilities
Then those who would die will live."

The warrior leered and banged his axe
And growled to the other men
"You wear a robe, and provide no buffs
Tell me, what good are ye then?"

Put on the spot and doubted thus
I was about to try and explain
When beyond the walls there came a sound
Like a steam tank gone insane

A crashing sound, deafening
The front gate splintered forth
And into the courtyard spilled the enemy
Bearing spell and sword and torch

"To war!" we shouted and rallied forward
Driving the enemy back
The mages summoned storms of ice
And the hunters launched their attack

The warriors charged and cleaved their axes
Cutting the enemy down
The healers closed their bloody wounds
And shielded them from harm

From off to one side a warlock cast
A spell of certain doom
Towards a hero fighting in our ranks
Who was destined for a tomb

Pulling a totem from my bag
I stamped it in the ground
The warlock's spell was pulled into it
And it disappeared without a sound

Just then a rogue appeared from out of sight
Behind our wisest caster
Raised his dagger to end his sagely life -
But my hex was slightly faster

Two more totems I pulled from my bag
And planted them in the path
My allies were graced with renewed energy
And an inherent sense of wrath

I spied a rogue suffering
From a deadly poison shot
I cleansed the ailment from his body
And healed him on the spot

Three of the enemy broke through our ranks
And charged towards our back
I stamped a totem in the ground
And entangled them in their tracks

Just then I felt a stunning blow
That sent me to one knee
A paladin struck me twice again
And I was dead before I could plea

But to a shaman, death is temporary
And I called on an ankh of power
To restore my life and give me strength
So that we could yet win the hour

The paladin charged on towards the healers
And prepared to kill the lot
But lightning arced out from my fingers
And fried him on the spot

I sat with a drink to quickly recover
Next to the paladin, his hair fried crispy-curly
And the warrior spied me sitting down
And yelled "make yourself useful girlie!"

Chagrined, I rose to my feet
And chanted a mystic call
That infused a bloodfury in my allies
And empowered one and all

I planted another totem into the ground
And the ground itself came alive
A monster of rock charged into the enemy
And scattered them like bees from a hive

We pushed them back and cut them down
And it was clear the day was ours,
We lost only the gate and very few men
And defended all our towers

The celebration was bright and merry
And rewards were spread around,
The dead were carried away and buried
And debris cleared from the ground

I had collected my totems and cleaned them all
And bound them with a leather strand
When the warrior approached with a pair of flagons
And thrust one into my hand

"There's more to you than meets the eye"
He said with a nod and a wink
"And the next time I head into battle,
I'll be looking for a shaman I think."

It was generous praise and I accepted it
And courtseyed deep and quick,
"I won't have any buffs for you -
But I'll bring my bag of sticks."