Hear me, Papal Princess Pope,
My name was never Sir John,
Pray listen, and I shall begin,
A tale both ancient and long.
I hail from the dark cold north,
I once served Jarl Volegarl.
Once in battle, I saved his life,
Well rewarded—became I his Huscarl.
My Liege had a droll humour,
Both fine and harsh and grim,
Named “Just Our Huscarl’s Name”—
His most amusing Acronym.
I swore an Oath long and mighty,
Even now I remember it well.
I’d defend my lord beyond death,
Even dare to wage war on hell.
I swore my eternal Loyalty,
My oath rang the Hadean chord,
Should my Liege falter or fade,
I’d follow and fall on my sword.
That may have been my undoing,
And perchance my fated state.
At last Jarl Volegarl fell in battle,
We stood before hell’s dark gate.
The dark did fade, dark tendrils came,
My Jarl’s scream, eternal terror,
I was now left to my dread fear,
I hoped this had been some error.
The darkness — a swirling nothing,
Mindless chaos envelops all.
Tall, amorphous, no trace of a corpse,
Towering presence invades my pall.
The grim Chaos Lords have vast power,
It transcends both heaven and hell,
Bending matter and time as they wish,
To heed them would serve me well.
Chaos Lords stand for change,
A random quest against life,
Now naught but a malleable Avatar,
Wielding their wills dark knife.
Through centuries turned to dust,
Committing every shade of sin,
Taking, or sparing lives at random,
Till sanity clouds from within.
Now mad as a weeping grey monarch,
My twisting dark thoughts are the night;
Now that killing is simply not enough,
I hunger to bring each victim fright.
My chaos lords; perversion unrestrained,
All goodness foully besmirched.
Their crowning work of debauchery,
They Created Christendom’s Dark Church.
They bade me serve this new Dark Church,
Clad bright, in sable and glittering gold,
A grim dark soldier of the night,
I am terror reborn to behold.
From the lost beginning of time,
Freely I raven, rage and I reeve,
A dread blight throughout all history,
The bodies I don— fit like a sleeve.
Harken now, Church Princess so mighty,
My story is dark, grim, and seldom told.
Your final dark night, I must reeve your life.
Chaos Lords will it; you’ll never grow old.
Consider me, Just A Church Knight,
Tarnished in sable and black.
Now my dark knife drinks your life,
Consider my acronym J-A-C-K.
—A dark knife hums from a sheath—
