16 September 2012
He stands above the city, His wings unfurled and grand, His shoulders broad and head aloft, A sabre in his hand.
A glinting chain mail armour, A shield, the dullest grey, He watches as the sun does rise, And greets another day.
His helmet's nonexistent, Instead we see his head, Ink-black hair and charcoal eyes, Calculating every tread.
With calloused hands he grips his sword, Cuts a bloody path, Across the hoards of daemons, Who clearly feel his wrath.
For he'll protect this city, Until the day he dies, This man with wings and blackened hair, Rough hands and endless eyes.
Protector. • Opuss № I