The blades ring clear and loud.
With each blow comes a sound.
Metal on metal,
Steel on leather,
Blade on flesh.

I back to a corner,
My second visit here nearing an end.
Soon I must become a runner,
Fleeing far past the bend.

A day of confusion was not a wise choice,
People charging at random.
Too few clues,
Too many choices,
And only two against me,
But those two are enough.

Another swing of the sword,
The Man that Laughs grinning,
Yet I cannot fake a frown,
Even as his sword strikes another wound.
A rival whose roots began here like mine,
A former seer whose role is now not known,
Against a villager twice over.

The jester has won against the bard this time,
But yet the battle will never end.
I use my sword to block another stike,
And back away from the village.

My time is up.

(It looks like I'll be lynched at this rate, with two on me compared to only one on TheLaughingMan. Moreover, he got the two on me before others got two on them. If I am lynched come sundown, he will win this round. In games where both of us are in, we are the only ones allowed effectively to lynch each other. And so he has effectively won this round against me, I think.)