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[From the fog]
From the fog, of a dampend night,
A man shall come, bringin nothing but fright.
Amongst the peasents, he sits and waits.
And there he stays until night time breaks.
when it falls,
he walks through the fog with the quickest of pace.
he rolls and climbs and enters and waits,
For his next victim to come and state-
"Who are you and where have you come?"
With a voice that does not tremble nor faid,
the man from the fog answers-
"A man, such as your self, is who i am.
But with out the one fatal flaw that you contain.'
"what is this 'flaw' say you?"
"Greed...." said the man from the fog, letting the word ring in the air.
"Greed is your flaw and you are its slave. In shackels and chains made not of tin but in the flesh and blood of those you have hurt or hit."
"But they were worthless peasants, ones with out homes or family. Worthless corpses none the less" the aristocrate yelled
with this being said, the man of the fog shethed is blade,
in to the flesh and bone of the greedy aristrocrat.
who then fell dead.
For with the deed done and the flaw admited,
a nother is created, and another one does not go unpunished.
For when each one the man from the fog destroys,
the fog shall thicken, creating a vale from himself.
Till a point, where he himself shall become lost,
and shall have to pay for his own flaw