IXI DAY SPECIAL

Sophie and the Wicked Spell
By Kattrish

Stir it clockwise, stir it fast,
stir at once when spell is cast.
Eerie glow from wicked stew
surrounds the hut, the cauldron brew.

Ixi, holding spell book near,
gives a cloak of dreadful fear
to those who see this ghostly scene
who dare not try to intervene.

Stir it clockwise, stir it fast,
stir at once when spell is cast.
Odd hums arise from wicked stew,
surrounds the hut, the cauldron brew.

Throwing vials to cauldron fog,
Sophie, witch of dreary bog,
cackles as potion gives green glow,
which in turn, continues to grow.

Stir it clockwise, stir it fast,
stir at once when spell is cast.
Mists of smoke from wicked stew,
surrounds the hut, the cauldron brew.

Calling Petpet Meowclops here,
Sophie grabs a small bowl near,
and grasps the handle of the scoop
to take from cauldron... some fearsome soup?

Stir it clockwise, stir it fast,
stir at once when spell is cast.
Delicious smell from wicked stew
surrounds the hut, the cauldron brew.

The Legend of the Medieval Princess
By Precious_katuch14

Medieval Princess, majestic and fair,
Your delicate steps are light as air.
In your scarlet robes and silk veil,
You step out of a faerie tale.

Medieval Princess, violet eyes bright,
You gaze out into the starry, starry night.
Through the window your subjects see
A peerless yet inquisitive Ixi.

Medieval Princess, of unparalleled grace,
You are more than just a pretty face.
You take up your sword and raise it high
And swing it down in an arc from the sky.

Medieval Princess, brave and bold,
You come from dynasties of old.
Generations of warriors great and strong,
You shall equal them soon before long.

Medieval Princess, you must fight,
Fight for your kingdom and what is right.
Your blade sings a song of victory
With lines of truth and verses of glory.

Medieval Princess, listen to your heart,
For nothing will happen unless you start.
Swap your beautiful gowns for metal armour
Lead your armies, and sally forth!

Medieval Princess, an Ixi so great,
You have accepted all this as your fate.
The battle is won, take a well-deserved rest
And enjoy yourself at today's fest!

Tarla, Ixi of Mysteries
By Archangellight

In her toasty wooden shop,
The Ixi smiles gleefully,
High on Terror Mountain top,
Tarla's Mart of Mystery!

Choose an item if you dare,
This Ixi will never tell!
Be it round or be it square,
Just what is it she sells?

What secret riches in here lay,
In dainty, hoof-tied bags?
Made of jewels or made of clay,
In here you find no tags!

In the store's mysterious back,
Past doors all locked and barred
Wrapping items in paper black,
Tarla works so hard!

In the icy morning light,
She lines them up so neat,
The little sacks of great delight!
Tarla, so discreet!

Tarla, the Ixi of secrets kept,
A mastermind through and through!
At her shop many tears are wept,
And many smiles brew!

The Young Ixi Bandit
By Ktkdk

When there is not a speck of light
And you can't tell left from right,
She will give you quite a fright
With her fur as black as night.

Once your heartbeat is less wild,
You realise there is nothing to fear.
Before you stands an Ixi child.
She looks so innocent and demure.

You tell her how things didn't go as planned:
On your way back to your native land,
You got lost while carrying a fortune so grand.
She smiles and offers to lend you a hand.

A green feathered headband adorns the young lass,
And below it are soulful pink eyes.
Yet you feel more lost as the hours pass.
You foolishly tell her your worry.

Her face is marred by a malicious grin,
And suddenly she kicks you in the shin.
The two of you raise quite a din,
But in the end, the young Ixi girl wins.

Your head aches and your bruised shin throbs.
Appearances can be so deceiving!
The Ixi bandit has done her job;
She has stolen all your money!

An Ixi at the Rainbow Pool
By Mamasimios

What does an Ixi need to do
To shrug off your names like "sweet" and "cute"?
Perhaps a trip to the Rainbow Pool
Will reveal my inner nature cruel.

Aha! A dripping Snot Paint Brush
Will end your silly, mindless crush,
But no, you say, to my surprise,
Foul ooze can't dim my twinkling eyes.

Well then, a Darigan I will become,
A willing servant to the wicked one.
Yet still of my beauty do you sing,
An ode to my curving horns, my wings.

How about ghost with red eyes ghoulish?
Halloween appears less fearsome than foolish,
A robot too hard and cold to hold?
A skunk with noxious musk foretold?

I would attempt a Tyrannian underbite,
But can see that fills you with weird delight.
Surely you would find a mutant beastly?
But yet you spread your arms to reach me.

Your love is constant, I do admit,
Maybe a new Paint Brush is yours to pick.
But if I might one hint deploy
I've long fancied myself a Royalboy.

Mirk's Devilish Halloween
By Twocents

One dark Halloween,
The three kids went out to play.
The Ixi, Lenny, and Blumaroo
Ran around collecting candy.

Approaching the next house,
Mirk's tail danced in excitement.
"Trick or treat!" he called out,
Not letting his voice betray his intent.

When no one answered,
He spotted the bowl left out.
Dumping the candy without grandeur,
He made sure his bag caught them all.

Meeting back up with the other three,
They laughed over their great finds!
Spotting a nearby house,
An idea popped into their devilish minds.

Old lady Doppelganger,
A Krawk almost blind!
Surely she would be easy to snatch from,
She wouldn't even mind!

Dancing up the steps together,
Mirk took the lead.
Once her candy was displayed,
They all made sure they'd succeed!

Each grabbed a mighty handful,
When the gentle old woman invited them in.
Well, it was just cookies with a kindly Krawk,
So they agreed, each with a grin.

As soon as the door closed,
The bang resounding through the house,
Mirk realised the trouble they were in,
Each friend darted away like a Psimouse.

The Lenny's screams rang,
And the Blumaroo cowered,
Watching the horror through half-closed eyes,
Mirk watched as the Krawk devoured.

The Krawk taught them a lesson,
One that lasted through each death,
That you can't escape your misbehaving,
Even if you run till you're out of breath.

No one's quite sure if the story is real.
But one thing is certain,
On Mirk, that trouble-causing Ixi,
The Krawk pulled the curtain.

A Poem for Ixi Day
By Rosabellk

Ixi Day has come once more,
And I therefore begin
To write an Ixi poem;
I pick up my quill pen
And lay a sheet of paper out.
But alas, try as I might,
I cannot pick out just one Ixi
About whom to write.
There are so many famous Ixis
That beckon to me.
But I have to choose one out.
All right now, let's see...

First of all, there's Sophie,
Who, with her brother Bruno,
Restored all of Neovia
To the peaceful state that you know.
She worked her magic skilfully
And, with a thoughtful frown,
Cast a most powerful spell
That served to save her town.

And then, from Chemistry for Beginners,
There is the Ixi Chemist.
It seems he's always experimenting
With some clever new twist.
He carefully sorts molecules,
He tries to crack the code.
But one false move, and his whole
Laboratory will explode!

Next we have Commander Valka,
A hero from deep space.
As the leader of the Resistance,
No one could take his place.
He led the battle against Sloth,
Fought bravely 'gainst Garoo;
His recognition for these deeds
Is sadly overdue.

Then there is the Ixi Courtier,
A treacherous, wily lass.
In the war for Meridell,
She recruited for Kass.
Where is she now? No one is sure.
She's simply disappeared.
But in the war, her name was one
That everybody feared.

So many Ixis, all deserving
To be written 'bout!
How can I go about the job
Of picking just one out?
I guess it is a hopeless task;
There's too great an array.
It seems to me I will not write
An Ixi poem today.

A Game With Chortle
By Anjie

Some folk speak of a poker face
That cannot just be read.
Displaying nothing of their hand,
It shows no glee nor dread.
Should the table round call you,
And should fate deal your hand.
You'll not be reading Chortle's face,
So this, please understand!

When not seated with his cards,
He puts on quite a show!
Dancing, acrobatics too,
And juggles balls that glow.
It's said that he alone can make
Old Skarl release a grin.
When Chortle does his 'jester dance'
The King's chuckles begin.

But making merry meets its end,
And poker calls his name.
Playing a clown gets him laughs,
But poker gives him fame.
Expression seems to never change,
So set, it won't abate.
You never know he's in the lead,
Until it's far too late.

None know how one who plays for laughs
Can keep so straight a face.
One would think he'd laugh for sure,
(Or scowl!) It's not the case.
Instead the Ixi's lips are still,
His facial features bland.
You'd best just focus on your game,
When Chortle plays his hand.

Nabile, Thief or Queen?
By Nut862

She was a thief, a slippery Scarab,
And if she said so herself, she was good.
She knew just which trinkets to grab,
And never worried whether she should.

Her clothes were thin to ward off the sun;
She wore a gauze veil to shroud her face
So that whenever she'd turn and run,
She could just vanish without a trace.

Shopkeepers swore she hadn't a heart;
She'd stolen from them time and again,
Never hesitant to play her part
In crime beside her scruffy Lupe friend.

When an evil prince attacked the city,
She alone could see past the curse.
Only the street thief could find pity
And think of the prince none the worse.

When the two rode off together,
It was said that they had both changed.
True love had made them each better:
The prince was no longer deranged.

Now they rule under the Qasalan crown,
And it's said that she's stopped stealing,
And now he never terrorises the town;
In fact, they helped with Sakhmet's healing.

A street thief and an evil prince --
Have they truly mended their ways?
Or has this change come about since
Royalty is easier to praise?

Sophie's Lament
By Phoenix_through_fire and Concertogreat_8

Sophie, with hair in curls and skin pale green,
Dances in the Neovian streets, a song in the air,
Skips down the road to her brother, who waits,
At the corner, for her small hands to wrap him
In a weak hug around his middle.
Bruno.

Faerie tales and small lies, told every night
To a small Ixi, on a winter's eve, by the fire,
They sit together, laughing, as he threads the holly,
Dark red berries, through her hair, golden curls.
In the firelight, backs warming against flames.
Bruno.

But now, in the cracked mirror strewn
Across the ground -- she can see the broken image
Of her brother's warm smile. A cry escapes her lips,
Her paws thrown up -- but arms soon surround her,
Sobs muffled by a strong embrace.
Bruno.

Memories, lost, fade into the foggy air,
Her dress is torn, the ribbons flying loose.
She stumbles in the mud, hooves outstretched,
Grasping at air futilely, reaching out.
She cannot find him, her brother is gone.
Bruno.

Now, her hooves are worn like old leather,
Gripping to the cauldron spoon, shoulders shake.
Now there are fresh tears for old wounds.
A void never filled, years alone. A hut, a hat,
All she has to her name, but she has only one want:
Bruno.

Lonely days, the howling of the wind,
Leaves fall from the trees, one by one,
Caught in a hopeless wind.
Hapless travellers stray from the beaten path,
A breaking heart inflicts its pain upon others, for
Bruno.