Once upon a sordid time
There lived the brothers nine
In a castle, ivy vined
Each did walk a deadly line.

The first of whom was power wrought
Through blood and war had he been taught.

The second showed his colors true
Rose one day and bid adieu.

The third was a slippery fellow
Hands of thieves and hair of yellow.

The fourth spent his time in books
Cunning for quiet is often mistook.

The fifth had a heart of gold
Mind of strength and eyes of old.

The sixth lived all alone
Striving, striving to atone.

The seventh chose a life of luxe
With selfish heart and vain looks.

The eighth had a dreamer’s soul
Till life’s trials did take their toll.

The ninth was hungry, to his bones
Sought nothing less than power of throne.

For these brothers, numbered nine
Fate had come to break their ties.
Blood is useless, does not bind
When only one can survive.