Down in the den, Ashmantle sleeps, Head upon her claw. A devious brain can plan ahead, Expose a mortal flaw. Her nemesis comes, a burly knight, His quest is bold and true. The order's needs will goad him on, Through a crimson hue. His squire is young, a blacksmith boy, Dim, but full of grit. He wants to hear his bard's songs sung, By entering fiery pit. So who will win this contest, Be the last to stand, Claim the grail of victory, Known throughout the land? The answer lies inside, my friend: Get thee to a till. The whispering words will tell the tale, And dreams your brain will fill.

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