*As a Troubadour came forth, cleared his throat and banged three times on the raw goat skin of his drum, a long lasting silence made it's way through the noisy 'Brawling Bear Inn'*
I guess you think you know this story.
You don't. The real one's much more bloody.
The phoney one, the one you know,
Was cooked up to flatter cowards ego.
Those that lived to spread some lies
Clearly wheren't among the first lines.
They didn't even get the name right.
'Amut'Anun' they failed to write.
Mind you, they got the first bit right,
The bit where, in the dead of night,
They gathered as a whole,
Beneath some barely standing wall.
Outnumbering the defenders three to two,
They didn't expect what soon came through.
Before the first trebuchet could be set,
The attackers where hammered back to Nakaset.
Shread to pieces as they fled.
Hardly any of the defenders had end up dead.
When they managed to come back near the keeps doors,
They were hidding like poxy whores.
Soon trebuchets like daisies popped
The barely defended outer walls finally dropped.
Empty buildings were set on fire
Bodies wallowed in the mire.
Too eager to call anything a victory
The attackers overlook the defenders strategy.
Empty buildings and vulnerable so late,
Most people would have seen the bait.
In the keep's vault nothing to gain.
For it's capture so many died in vain.
They try now to convince with their banter,
That they dominated this encounter.
But as we speak, the so called 'victors' treat their wounds with wine,
And hope that soon they'll grow a spine.
As for the defendors, they gave up wood and stones,
For the sheer pleasure of crushing bones.
Blood for stone and stone for blood.
I know on which side i'd rather have stood.
~Poem by Vahram, a Cimmerian scalde