Knights who say, "ni" ping.
Bring out yer dead... bang! Bring out yer dead... clang! ... rwaaaarrr!
'Neath sea the land sinketh, the sun dimmeth,
From the heavens fall the fair bright stars;
Gusheth forth stream and gutting fire,
To very heaven soar the hurtling flames.
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Forum/1734/volueng.htm
'Among the clouds over his head were visible the virulent pouring showers and sparks of ruddy fire which the seething of his savage wrath caused to mount up above him. His hair became tangled about his head, as it had been branches of a red thorn-bush stuffed into a strongly fenced gap to block it; over the which though a prime apple-tree had been shaken, yet may we surmise that never an apple of them would have reached the ground, but rather that all would have been held impaled each on an individual hair as it bristled on him for fury. His hero's paroxysm projected itself out of his forehead, and showed longer than the whet-stone of a first-rate man-at-arms. Taller, thicker, more rigid, longer than mast of a great ship was the perpendicular jet of dusky blood which out of his scalp's very central point shot upwards and then was scattered to the four cardinal points; whereby was formed a magic mist of gloom resembling the smoky pall that drapes a regal dwelling, what time a king at night-fall of a winter's day draws near to it.'
Stories, Myths and legends about Cúchulainn (snip)