One held in chains, eleven watched, declined the blames that they told. One cried and ten spoke and the hammer of justice stroke. One was cursed, two were imprisoned, accused for death, lies and treason. And the rod was scattered low: in Tarterian depths below. Four are angels, way up high two are dragons, proudly fly. Brass and blue their colors are all six came from places far. Three high priests judged against malice, for the gods of law and justice. Three judges the gods granted: the watcher, the true, the even-handed. One figure, last, in shadow stood, wearing a black cloak and hood. Of humanoid shape he seemed, His eyes with silver light they gleamed. At last he was proven guilty, condemned to eternity of duty. Guarding what he helped to make, that which caused the mountain break.

Updated 14 June 2015 (16:23)

This comes from our campaign in d&d, speaking of events that happened 4000 years ago: the creation of a powerful artifact and the consequences on the creators and the rest.

This is great. I'd love to have been part of that campaign. From this poem alone I would bet it's intriguing.