Deep in the thickets where laughter runs wild, Stands Castle Mischief, both clever and mild. The King of all Thieves keeps a glittering prize, Behind a vast curtain of endless disguise. He fashioned the halflings with big furry feet, To walk through the meadows and play on the street. A joke of creation, a stroke of his pen, He gifted his humor to mortals and men. Step past the illusion that spans the deep moat, Where floating weird items and strange riddles gloat. No bridge is quite real when you're crossing the line, In Fizzlethorpe's kingdom of grand serpentine. The rooms are all sideways, the floors upside down, A monarch who wears a ridiculous crown. With puppets of gods on a mock-theater stage, He laughs at the drama of history's page. A giant-sized halfling who sits on his throne, In rooms made of mazes where travelers roam. He watches you wander from puzzle to trap, And catches the foolish folks right in his lap. No malice is hidden behind his bright grin, Just pranks that are meant to delight and begin. With bards and with rogues shouting out in the song, The joke's on the hero who takes it too long. When April rolls over the lands of Norrath, His followers scatter a comical wrath. With practical jokes on the pious and bold, They trade all their honor for laughter and gold. So watch out for shadows that giggle and leap, While Fizzlethorpe watches you stumbling sleep. The ruler of mischief, the jester supreme, Forever will rule in this whimsical dream.
