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Bargate Prison Warden

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Bargate Prison Warden
Bargate Prison Warden
Species Human
Gender Male
First Appearance Fable
Last Appearance Fable: The Lost Chapters
Status Unknown
"It is Painfully obvious you have no interest in the arts. My lyrical opus is wasted on your Philistine ears. Back to the cell with you!"
— Bargate Prison Warden

The Warden of Bargate Prison is known only for his horrible poetry that he forces the winner of a footrace to listen to. His poetry is mainly written for Lady Grey, although Lady Grey never likes or liked any of the Warden's poetry. He resides in Bargate Prison and you have to steal the keys from his office while he reads you poetry.

He looks identical to 5th Regiment Guards.

The Warden is a poet at heart, and when not running Bargate Administration, or inflicting torture, he spends his time composing poetry. These poems can be heard by the Hero after three trips to the Warden's Office.

The Cautionary Song of the Jailbird

Behold, the ball, the spirited sparrow
As it doth fly above our dreary jail
None can harm it, not even an arrow
And should you try, You would surely fail
Its tail does bore forth from its beak
How once it was imprisoned inside of a cage
Now tis one with the clouds, so to speak
Twas turned to vapour by an angry mage
Oh, spritely sparrow, dearest of all birds
Oh, that you were behind bars again
If only you had heeded my watchful words.

Lady Grey

Grey, is the prettiest colour
Oh, Grey, is the prettiest colour
For it’s in her name, her eyes,
And her soul
She makes me feel ten feet taller
To see her, is to lose control
She lives in the North side among rainbows
And I look at her from dead, scummy slums
Her suitors, are always the same ones
Her presence afflicts them, with the runs
She's the Mayoress of my kingdom
I worship her all night and all day
My words are true, and I bring them!

An Ode to Torment

No lilacs blooming in the orchid, on a cool autumn’s day
Can compare to inflicting some torture! With pincers from a tray
No roses out in the sun, or dripping with rain
Can equal the joy that fills one, when delivering pain
Scalpels, pokers and forks, can rend, sever and hack
But nothing produces such songs, as those upon the rack!

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