"Pray hark! To brave Sir Baldrin’s tale
Who traveled far to mountain vale,
To slay an ogre, fiend or drake
And meet his ‘Lady of the Lake’
Dismounting now, Sir Baldrin strode
Further still up mountain road,
From nook and cranny, hungry eyes
Did stare, then widen in surprise
And thus it was that Ogre foul
Stepped out, and gave a fearsome growl:
“I’ll grind yer bones to make my bread”
The Knight replied “I’ll have your head!”
Sir Baldrin charged, with greatsword raised
His downward stroke the Ogre grazed,
The monster’s club came arching down,
And landed hard on Baldrin’s crown
There came a grisly snapping sound
The Knight was pitched unto the ground,
But here Baldrin’s tale does not end,
What awaits our Brettoni friend?
His guts were gobbled then and there
The rest dragged back to Ogre’s lair
Sir Baldrin’s heart, so stout and true
Took pride of place in wholesome stew
His legs were chewed, his fingers grilled
His lungs with Garlic butter filled
Bones were snapped and marrow bled
Then powdered into Ogre bread
Chain-mail fitted Ogre’s arm
(Tho not with Baldrin’s dandy charm,)
His great sword, once a weapon dire
Spitted meat on open fire
His icon—thrown into the hearth
His breastplate—now a goblin’s bath
His blanket—used to stuff a hole
His skull—a hollow drinking bowl
And so then this Brettonian’s fate
Was met upon an Ogre Plate
Let ye be warned: when eastward bound
Pray take some friends, let ye be found"
In 1001 IC, one of the first Questing Knights, Sir Baldrin of Brionne, rode into the Ogre Kingdoms in search of monsters. He finds them. His grisly end is recounted by Empire minstrels in the parody 'Quest's End'.[2a]