[Lord Fear and Lissard are not getting on. Treguard happens to be watching them in his magic mirror. Lissard turns to him - literally.]

[Lissard:]

Now keep this from your elf but

My lord plays games with me

I don't mean Knightmare Monopoly

When he is nice it's over in a trice or faster

Why, it's no Greater Game

When he won't give me my own calling name

Wish I could withstand like the Dungeon's famous master

Hey there, Treguard

Could you be my boss?

Talk to me, Treguard

Mine cannot give a toss

Hey there, Treguard

I'm here in distress

Talk to me, Treguard

End each word with "ness"

Help me, Treguard

Dismiss that genie gal

Take me on, Treguard

As your seneschal

[Then Lord Fear does the same:]

He makes me want to up-chuck

He's ichythyophagous

Gets off on sardines and sibilance

He stinks daily, he's scaly and all-Atlantean, I regret

He thinks he fits the bill

He doesn't know that he's draining my will

Backwards he's Drassil... I need Dunshelm's favourite martinet

Hey there, Treguard

Could you be his boss?

Talk to me, Treguard

And teach him how to floss

Hey there, Treguard

I can't stand his stench

Although he makes a

Comely tavern wench

Help me, Treguard

If this song doesn't jar

Talk to me, Treguard

Knightmare's own HR

[Treguard ponders, then replies.]

If you want me, just surrender. You know how to surrender, don't you? I'll just put a list together, and-

[Lord Fear interrupts]

No.

[Lord Fear and Lissard look at each other. Mutual forgiveness. Lissard carries over a blackboard. Lord Fear grins at Treguard and scrapes his fingernails down it, with a terrible high-pitched sound.]