Three bearded brothers they were,
and from the mountains they came
fierce fighters for sure
in search of riches and fame.
The most able in strife
was Beardwyn the Miser,
though in his century of life,
he had never grown wiser.
They were passing through flatlands,
when rains drenched the earth,
finally, an inn was at hand
with a nice, warm hearth.
Said Beardwyn, "two shillings for bed and meal",
"for each", said the innkeeper,
said Beardwyn, "sorry, no deal",
we're seasoned rain sleepers.
Whence pursuing rumors of wealth,
they came to the city of Arcaios,
where man now lived from begging and stealth,
did once rule mages so infamous.
Said Beardwyn to a beggar near,
"Poor man, tell me what's happening,
for I am a stranger here,
and will give thee this iron farthing."
"An iron coin, there is such a thing?",
replied the beggar somewhat shocked,
"surely, thou must be jesting,
and even I don't like to be mocked."
Then a call rang, an a ragged mob,
overwhelmed surprised Beardwyn,
all that he carried did they rob,
before his brothers could step in.