The moon glows brite on this darkling nite
Whilst shadows wisp to and fro'.
The witch's cant an evil chant
Whilst whispering winds doth blow.
My mind is sorrow weeps for tomorrow
as the creatures rise from the dark.
The earth crys out with a horrid shout,
and the nitelings leave their mark. 
As dark clouds form a new scent is born
deep within forested hills.
Two men stride with ancient pride
and with a peace the forest fills. 
Ancient rites and pinprick lites
are seen within ancient walls;
figures robed dance round the globe
and in hushed voices make calls. 
Through the wispy nite close enough to site
the castle walls so old;
two shadows pad with purpose to be had 
and a sparkle in their eyes like gold.
A chant sounds out with a vigorous shout
and lightning bolts cross the sky.
The figures rush with an eerie hush 
as the chant rings out with a cry. 
Six feet of steel and the thump of a heel 
brings the first one to his knees. 
A staff of oak and a skull is broke.
A third into the nite flees.
The dark'ning sky with a horrible cry
is ripped open with a spell.
The storm beats down with a wailing sound
and through the nite is heard "Twelve Bell!"
The thud of a blow and blood does flow.
The nitelings surge on.
The swish of steel, a foot parted at heel.
The battle round 'bout rages on.
The ground for a mile reeks like bile
as the earth is painted red.
A crack resounds, fire rebounds,
and the fury of the night is fed.
Twist and Turn! Bodies burn;
who can tell one from another.
Grinds and Groans! Human moans,
as brother duels with brother. 
The storm is done; dawn is come,
and the silence of the nite is gone.
The rain left mud, a trail of blood,
and a heavy set of prints travelling on.