Once a boy who bruised with ease, a wretched thing upon his knees. The forge would break, then make him new, with fire, steel, and sinew true. He provides the blades, he secures the shields, the armor bright, the sharpened steel. He dealt with not just those who paid, but those who’d march and those who’d raid. No king’s decree nor soldier’s might could match the arms that he delivers at night. For hi strength, he knew, was in his fame... It lay in those who spoke his name.
www.quackingwaxx.com