Then entering into the dim,
The shield humming blue,
They descended ‘tween the roots,
Of a massive yew.
And there among the cobwebbed roots,
A figure curled tight,
Wrapped in a dirty robe,
And whiskers shocked pure white.
He awoke with frantic eyes,
And scrambled up in fear,
Until his eyes found Everett.
Then fear began to clear.
“Everett?” the figure asked,
In rich and rough-voiced tones.
“Is that you, my brother dear,
Come to seek my bones?”
“I want no of yer bones, oh King,
But rather of yer mind,
To know from whence ye came to be,
Thusly so confined.”
A shadow crossed the kingly brow,
“You should want me dead.
For my selfish horror,
Unearths memories of dread.”
Then sitting down upon the floor,
‘Midst dirt and filth and grime,
King Braekenett began his tale,
Of another time: