by Jolanta C. Biniek
A thousand years of practice, brother,
and this is how you end the story?
Take the body away, it is not my brother.
I've seen him bring down 20 men or more
into the halls of darkness in a day.
The Rats feed on the Jackal King,
it is not my brother.
My brother knew, at the very first,
how the wind blew, and that it blew not well for him
- he should have been prepared.
The rogue blew in on that wind,
trailing blood and gunsmoke and revenge.
He did his work, destroyed a Guild
that had both taken and wasted lives.
And for that my brother gave his life?
Overconfident, angry, sloppy.
Second born, a second late,
that's all it takes to take you in
or take you out of this world.
Brother, you were good but second best.
The Black Sabbath has come indeed,
and the rats are scattered by the fall of his shadow.
Email Jolanta at email@example.com