Thrice Sayeth the King of Enlemdown

Over the mountains and past the fjord, the Kingdom Enlemdown endured

the plots and crimes of one man called, the Scourge, the Blackguard: Emit Fald.


Now Emit Fald was once a knight, a man who seemed a splendid sight.

Long of hair and fair of face, Emit Fald did move with grace.

He served the King with vim and vigor, poured his all into every endeavor.

For ten long years he did the best, that any could ask for, he worked without rest.

Not a one, could ever imagine, the terrible thoughts of this would be assassin.


But on one long and lonely night, in the middle of winter dark as spite,

Emit Fald did raise his blade, and in the moment the King was betrayed.

Emit struck the Kings young son, but he stopped not there, he was not done.

He moved from prince to princesses then, cutting and stabbing again and again.

The screams were heard, the guards did run, but when they saw, the sight did stun.

Where once had been children, laid in beds, now there was only tatters and shreds.


After this foul and murderous deed, Emit moved to run with speed.

He raced down stairs, he ran away, or would have rather, another day.

On that day, that night so dark, a sleepless scribe a light did spark.

The scribe saw Emit, saw his flight, saw the blood in the dim dark light.

Though small in size and frail of build, the scribe a mighty tome he hurled.

By a book Knight Fald was felled, his surprise, unparalleled.


Captured and tortured and chained to a wall, a broken man was Emit Fald.

He spoke no words, he named no name, he hung his head alone in shame.

As he climbed the hangman’s stairs, he was asked to speak his prayers

At that time with furrowed brow, he raised his head to face the crowd,

Emit Fald the Knight of Grace, Emit Fald so fair of face,

What could Emit Fald say now?  He had murdered the children and broken a vow.

Before Fald could speak or act, explain or plead or speak a fact,

The crowd into a mob became, it took Emit then to beat and maim.

Of the knight so once esteemed, little was left of the torn apart fiend.


And on that day, when the mob killed Fald, the King was asked, the King was called.

The people calmed when they saw their King, a few even began to sing,

The King who’s son and daughters lay, buried together that very day,

What say you King, what would you do?  Would you have beaten Emit too?

With face most grave and mouth in frown, “Thrice” sayeth the King of Enlemdown.



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