Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious volume of Pendragon lore
Whilst I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a bashing,
As of some one harshly rapping, pounding on my chamber door.
“Tis some lout,” I muttered, “Rapping at my chamber door –
Only this, and nothing more.”

Presently the pounding grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so loudly you came rapping,
And so deafeningly you came thumping, thumping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was able to ignore you” – here I opened wide the door; -
Arkan there, and nothing more.

Deep into that helmed face peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
Then the silence it was broken, and the Marshal gave a token,
And the only words there spoken were the whispered words “The War!”
This I whispered, and the Marshal murmured back “There’s more!”
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning
The Marshal at my heels and behind me closed the door.
“Surely,” said he, “surely you have heard the status;
Of my exploits, deeds and conduct, in the bloody Frankish war –
King Clovis he most certainly will not be bothering us anymore
He’s gone and fled to safer shores.

Then this grim knight beguiling my sad face into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,
“Frankish knights could find no haven” he said, “and call me no craven;
“But I took great delight in killing peasants by the score
As sport goes it was close in thrill to hunting down the wild boar.”
Laughed the knight, “Haw, haw haw!”

Much I marvelled this shameless knight to hear discourse so plainly,
He pointed with meaning at the cursed sword he wore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no other living human being
Would surely brag at slaying peasants with his cursed claymore?
“War’s a numbers game” he said, “There it is and nothing more.”
Then the knight said “There’s more.”

“Paris fell, the city taken, but Arthur stopped the knights from looting”,
That noble king, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
“Then Rome attacked!” he uttered – I could tell he was angered
Til I scarcely more than muttered “Were they led by the senator?
Gainus, the unhappily-named Roman Sentator?
“Gayness,” giggled Arkan, that and nothing more.

Startled at the seriousness broken, by a giggle so strangely spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “you need to grow up, that much is for sure.”
Caught by infectious laughter, Arkan struggled hard to master,
“It gets better than that, let me tell you the wherefore,
The other General was called Proctus Coctar
We were up against Gainus and Coctar!

This I sat engaged in listening, while Arkan continued speaking
All the while his deadly eyes burned into my bosom’s core
“The Romans they were sent a packing, back to Rome they went creeping,
Victory was ours, the battle won, as was nearly the war,
Speaking of which, I must go, I’ll show myself to the door,
Back to France to win the war!”

Up he got, the deadly knight, and opened up the chamber’s door
In the portal he did linger, he pointed an accusing finger
Pointed at me and said in a tone I could not ignore;
“By the way, I’ve got a bone to pick with you mush. Do you think I don’t read the comments sections of your session reports? So you want to kill me, huh? We’ll see about that. Sword skill 38 mother lover, stick that in your pipe and smoke it!