Plots and twists,
Those are the words this man fits
Crippled, battered, and torn
Secretly looked at by many in scorn
Honour is a faint acquaintance to this sellsword
One he simply waves at when met
Not a virtue he holds in deep respect
Though this might be a guise he wishes to protect
The Bloody Dawn he leads,
Into many acts and infamous deeds
Lacking a second foot, he is barely able to fight
But he has plenty of women and men, who will aid him in his plight
Hardoleth I still call him,
For thinking of a nickname for him, cannot be done on a mere whim
