"Aye, the king hath set us a grim table!
Tis a bitter draught I tell ye!
A scabaceous broth and a turdsome loaf
which hath been served up to us.
And worse yet, the people still have no idea
of what finer thing liberty can make in it's place."

Walks to ramparts. Calls to army below:

"All of you. Hear me now!
Our swords are honed for battle and
will cleave thee and all thy legions
shoulder, hip, and thigh,
mercilessly down unto Death!"

Points fiercely:

"And you there, Sir Knight!
Yes, you with the face!
Darest thou not to joust with me,
for I am known as Ravens' Friend,
and will quickly render thee
a portion for maggots."

Walks back. Again to council:

"Take heart! We shall ride triumphantly
through the streets in bright armor,
upon white horses, the corpses of these
impotent weakling slaves of darkness
lining the walkways at each side,
their blood running out and
filling the gutters at our feet!

Then shall begin their conversion
into ash for our fields,
and the recasting by fire
of their holy chalices and idols,
of gold under Sun,
of silver under Moon,
from icons of shame and meekness
into gleaming images of Truth.

And we shall fashion their holy places
into strongholds of voluptuousness,
their skulls will adorn the rafters
and gaze down upon us
as we enjoy our naked women
upon their holy altars."