One gentle evening, calm and still,
As day descended past the hill,
A Paladin, bare, with steadfast will,
Sought Chaotic foes to kill.

Clad in mail both worn and frail,
His valour soared, though doomed to fail.
Through boggy paths, a winding trail,
He found himself in coffin nailed.

Amidst this plight, with foes to fight,
He struggled on with fading might.
The evening turned from dusk to night,
As always does, the fading light.

Penned by my hand on the 14th of Lupar, in the year 965 AF.