The chief of vessels,
Here he lingers still,
gormless and ruthless,
guilty and ill.

The matriarch will protect you,
courageous and fair.
Swords may dive around and above too,
But she will not flinch, She will not care.

This omen is an old friend,
One we have learnt to disguise ourselves from,
Bonded by blood they may be,
But their blood is cursed and wrong.

A jester jumps entertaining us,
Distract yourself from historys doing,
Whilst the matriarch guards the doorway,
The chief is left to ruin.