A minstrel picks up his lute, and begins playing:
"Lend me your ear and I shall sing
the tale of the great Traitor King.
Who made a splash
but left in a flash,
and is a bit embarrassing.
"Once in the land of Caerwyn,
there was born a great nobleman.
Merodak von Igelfeld his name,
and with it he sought great fame.
Taught in the ways of rhetoric,
He found the skill could do the trick
and gain him power great wide
over men and mouse, even maiden hide.
"Yet still young he traveled far,
for his father sought lands far from there.
In Atamara the found a home
after much a want and a much more roam.
Amidst the stretched Empiric arms
they settled under Corian charms
where long his father served as scales chief,
and later they chanted “thief, thief, thief!”
Mad Man of Coria; his fathers renown
as he stole all funds from that daft crown.
“I shall rule” was his call,
and for it he did fall.
Slain was he for his crimes,
and for Merodak it was the worst of times.
"But justice came to his waiting arms,
as Coria hosted Darka's crueler charms.
Burn and rape those Darkans did,
and with them Merodak rid.
He shouted and stormed that city on the lake
and for their crimes he made them bake.
Jubulent was young Merodak
as their courtly flag he did defrock.
Burning with intense hate
he struck the duke for fathers sake.
But when the sedge had run its course.
They tore him from there by great force.
He swore one day he would return
again to see those towers burn.
But then some rest did he take,
as other Igelfelds more interest make.
"When he returned slightly older,
his temper grew a bit colder.
Making his home in Caergoth
a land of Viking creed and wrath,
He found it ruled by fearful men
who loved hiding in their secret den.
He pledged that day to live by virtue,
to courage and strength he was true.
He gathered men for revolution
to restore Ceargoth's true vision.
But then those leaders heard the plot
and placed Merodak in a confounding spot.
For they chose to turn his world round
by having their queen quickly step down.
"He sent out his call and stood for election,
but his plot was reveled and he stood for ejection.
“traitor!” was chanted by those in power,
But “King!” came the call from every tower.
They people had chosen their first traitor king,
and of Caergoth's new age did the heralds sing.
"The election was won
but his work just begun.
As piles of papers threatened his life,
with requests and diplomacy and dangers rife.
“do this! Do that!” demanded his people
while traitors hid behind the steeple.
“Enough!”, he said as he headed to bed
“I simply must demand a free weekend!”
So he slept and he slept as the papers did pile,
and for two days he averted and smiled.
But in the end that would be his doom
as the piles of letters blossom and bloom.
The pile did grow until no more could it fit,
so it fell to the floor and a candle it hit.
The king woke with a start with his eyes all aglaze,
for the tower of letters was now all ablaze.
And that my friends is the end of the story,
for the traitor king died in a great blaze of glory.
"And if you seek a moral to come.
Perhaps you may think on this one.
Although the young may have passion and fight,
with experience and wisdom they might be light.
this poor King did try his best,
but as many who know little, he failed with the rest.
So now I shall warn all of you,
to not bite more than you can chew."
