The knight assays a strike, a single thrust,
Through layers of fustian and of hollow pride;
The beast dissolves into a cloud of dust,
With nowhere left for vanity to hide.
The chiaroscuro of the cavern walls
Glows briefly with a soft, aurora light,
As silence once again within these halls
Asserts its ancient and sempiternal right.
Vesperian kneels to hearken to the stones,
To hear the secrets that the silence keeps,
Amongst the fractured and forgotten bones
Where every word in quietude now sleeps.
He rises then, his spirit made apace,
To seek the next and more selcouth place.
Vesperian has vanquished the Beast of Malignant Adjectives, but the deeper reaches of the Catacombs hold even more treacherous trials.
He now approaches the River of Rhetoric, a fast-flowing stream of liquid mercury that can only be crossed by solving the Enigma of the silent syllables
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