Long ago and far away, a King sat talking to a wizard.
'Lord,' said Wizard Myrlin, 'a horrid magic charm has struck our Kingdom. A haughty witch has put on us a cantrap so nasty that our words twist in our mouths. I know not why. But hark! I cannot now say anything containing a particular symbol. At night, I can only drift away or fall off, I cannot sl-, sl- slip. Oh, I can slip away too, but that sounds too final for just a night, and nap or forty winks unsatisfactory. Ah, counting, nothing from six to thirty is in my vocabulary. My craft is magic and so avoids this malicious blight but what of a man who guards animals? Furry, pallid things, you know, baa?'
'Sh-, sh-, traditionalist?' said King Arthur, consulting his book of vocabulary.
'Just so,' said Myrlin. 'Why I had also to modify my ... how I am known, just to turn up in this story. You must, Sir, and straight away, proclaim a mission to hunt for this missing sigil. Call your knights!'
And so it was that knights from many kingdoms around did group facing King Arthur. 'Worthy Knights' said Arthur,' I call on you this day to rid this kingdom of this ghastly charm that afflicts us all. Go with my sanction and find a stop to this horror. Half my kingdom to whom so triumphs!
Many knights did try to rid Arthur's kingdom of its affliction but most did disappoint. Dragons, ghosts and pit-traps ruinous to all but a trio whom now cross a torr-, riv-, str-, brook.
'That was not as taxing as I thought it was,' says Bohort, looking back at a dwindling flow.
Lanz sat in front, guiding with a firm hand his palomino stallion cross ford and through woods. His armour shining, his arm strong and his sword sharp, hungrily looking out for risk to confront. Prior to that dastardly charm a solitary knight had sat so, but cursing him had split him in twain and now Lot his twin sat at his back. Lot and Lanz, Lanz and Lot. Whilst Lanz was so proudly martial, Lot was marital - slightly built, thin of lip, with soft wavy hair, and a smooth gliding gait. Not a lady, maid nor laundry lass would baulk at his soft words. An imposing duo.
Shortly, all did approach a dark swamp, a hillock rising from within atop which sat a dank low building. 'That,' said Lot, 'is a witch's lair or I'm a Dutchman.'
Lanz did scowl at such frivolity and did shout out, 'I Lanz of Holy Lak- ... M- ... Pond' finally dripping from his scowling lips, 'do chall- ah!', angry, finally grasping his situation.
'Possibly, I might try,' said Lot, dismounting and approaching. 'Caution is our watchword, I am forming an opinion that our quarry is parlous, having hid away in such a lair, far from knightly prying.' Bohort alit from his filly who was skittish and unwilling to go forth unto such swampy ground. Yanking a low branch from a darkly sinuous oak, this sturdy warrior trod forwards, prodding with his stick for solid ground, arriving soon in front of a high door.
Again did Lanz go forth and call upon any inhabitants to fight him in solitary combat. On this occasion, his posturing was not in vain. A giant burst through from within, slung him on his back and took him away into a murky nook. Bohort and Lot both stood stock still, dumbstruck by such an abrupt attack. With caution, Bohort slowly slid forwards, through and down into an inky gloom.
Far into this of chasm corruption fought our boldish pair until at last burst unto a grisly display. Lanz lay bloody, thrown on a rack, his body wrung out as a dishcloth, a mask of grim anguish on him. On a gilt chair sat Morgana, an alluring witch, up dizzyingly high, in a prison swinging from a hook, sat our missing sigil, a colossus stood guard.
'Your trip was in vain. Approach and submit to my will', said Morgana, commanding and also magically inviting. Bohort could not withstand, his spirit waylaid by Morgana's charm but Lot, although a knight was not so without sophistication. Although Lanz was chivalrous, Lot was knowing. Sidling forwards, his kiss unwound Morgana's hold, 'Oh my!' spilling forth from luscious lips.
That was all Bohort could want, springing into action, his sword swung up and caught Morgana's giant, amidships, and down it slid, arms flung up, knocking that missing sign flying. It struck a stanchion and wound up in that falling giant's path.
Latər, King Arthur was trying to undərstand. 'What's that? Back with my missing, ərm, symbol but it's brokən? No kingdom for you!'
Bohort was distraught. 'Lord, our mission was not totally in vain. Look,' and pointing across to his companion, 'Lancəlot is again wholə! Just talk a bit likə that Chaucər and it will work out finə'.
'All right', said Arthur, 'no kingdom but you can havə thə hand of my daughtər.'