Last one out, turn off the lights
Some months had passed
Since Alaric the Brown had stormed the gates
Of the Mighty Cosmopolis of Auk,
Burning and Thrashing and Laying Waste.
Now Alaric wandered his vast estates
As the passion and fire of battle faded into memory
And brooded on the weighty responsibilities of State:
For the Barbarian Conqueror had become King.
He felt his potency and fearsome powers ebb away,
Not through brutal trial by combat,
Yet by suffering a thousand paper cuts
As courtiers and scribes and consultants hounded him
With contradictory reports and memos.
Lo, his communications team advised Alaric most strongly
To rule in the manner of a Civilised King:
But what does a Barbarian Warrior care
For the fine words and perfumed sentiments of the City?
Alaric grudgingly invited carefully selected Stakeholders
To a small windowless Chamber in the Palace,
But unable to restrain his foul temper,
He lashed out in fury at the disagreeable Senators
Who refused to sell off the Gold Statues of Auk:
For what Barbarian Chieftain can tolerate
Such brazen challenge to his Absolute Power?
The Selected Stakeholders watched in mystification
as he sneered at Lady Viv, the Merchant’s Envoy.
Outside in the extreme weather, the banished Scribes
Dripped and plotted revenge for their exclusion.
All the time, the rising waters lapped
Around potholed roads clogged with rush hour chariots,
And the Raiders of Ram marauded gleefully
Along the boulevards of the City of Auk,
Which no King has ever managed to sort out
Not even the Mighty Barbarian Lord, Alaric the Brown.