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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