Defenders of the Realm Act II

(Read Act I here.)

They arrived at the castle late,
a fortress frail and in dire straits
with foundations which were flaking
from attacks by the vile wyrm.

They met a man named Burbage,
who looked to Aled a durbage,
a man with no room for verbiage
who tended his mottled perm,
a butler minding the castle
tending to his half-arsed perm,
a man proud a dully firm.

The four friends set about their work,
snubbing Burbage's pompous smirk,
thinking how best to kill a beast
they had never seen before.

Gethin put archers on the walls,
Hywel guessed the dragon would fall
to some unjustly small axes
he bought from the smith next door.
Fergal brought in some trebuchets
to line the castle walls.
Aled just rolled his eyeballs.

They decided to get practice,
as they all did somewhat lack it
in any way of weaponry
or the forms of martial skill.

Gethin's archery went sideways,
he aimed as how one stargazes,
he hit two men in their faces
while his friends joined for the thrill,
joined for the thrill of shooting arrows
lined with finely trimmed quills,
and aimed at Burbage's frill.

Night fell over the Pennine hold,
and very soon the friends were told
that the dragon had been sighted
flying to the castle walls.

Gethin's archers were set aflame,
the dragon-fire put stone to shame,
and Fergal commenced his mad game
of flinging rocks at its hide,
rocks which hit everything
bar the dragon's armoured hide,
debris flying on all sides.

Then Hywel saw an opening,
charged through the wreckage smouldering
to clout the dragon with his axe
when it tried to eat him raw.

With a screech to deafen whistles,
like a cat caught in the thistles,
the beast took off like a missile
soaring up into the night,
leaving Hywel to boast and brag
for what was left of the night,
claiming he was proven right.

(Continued in Act III here.)