Come gather round friends, I’ll tell you a tale to which no adventure could compare. A tale of a battle, a tale of two warriors, a tale of defeat and despair. Come gather rounds friends, I’ll teach you a lesson as ancient and wise as a henge. A lesson of courage, a lesson of strength, and a punitive tale of revenge. Be ready for all you can bare, and come gather round if you dare, for a tale of revolution with the Moscow Offense in the air.

The story begins in the Eastern Beach region, the spark that provided the flame. The Northern Rookies were a band of marauders, they challenged the East to a game, the loser of which of his soul he’d be stripped as his metal fell down to the test, and banished from the entire region with a ticket on the Knight Express, with the claws of defeat in his hair, and the smell of the kill everywhere, and the sound of revolution with the Moscow Offense in the air.

And so it came down to one final battle, late one night down at old Dr Pongs. The rematch interupted by closing time, so the fight to the night now belongs. The game had moved up to the old chill out lounge and the girls they had gathered around. Slow poison by name and slow poison by nature was tactfully slowing it down. Like a moth to turantula’s lair, with distraction The Sheik he’d impair, with the clutch of revolution with the Moscow Offense in the air.

The foes did part way with the ladies and made their way down to the town of this tale. The clock it struck four as the man at the door made it clear that their plans were to fail. Vrubel was stoic and Vrubel was muscle, as hard as a russian could come. Vrubel could see the game under the table, threw ’em out on the streets, they were done, with their hopes thrown into disrepair, as their fire was losing its flare, in the smoke of revolution with the Moscow Offense in the air.

Though bleak and dejected, the warriors could not get the thought of revenge out their head. The thought would torment them, provoke them and tempt them, till Vrubel lay lonely and dead. And so, through the night sky, the Black Pawn of Death made its way to strike its fatal blow between Vrubel’s eyes, as our warriors ate pies and sat down now to finish the show. Of their victory they were well aware, and the price of it not did they care. ‘Twas the price of revolution with the Moscow Offense in the air.

So go turn the word over there, and tell all you know to prepare for a tale of revolution with the Moscow Offense in the air.