I was a young lad, once, full of vigor and zeal.

And to a maiden for love, I did appeal.

But when my love was rejected, to the bridge I walked

And behind me a young novice stalked.

"Jovial one." He shouted out after me,

For at the time, I was a jester, you see.

"Why do you walk with a look on your face

That could sour a perfectly good grape?"

I said not a word to this young one,

Young enough to be my very son.

I sighed sadly, and from the bridge I leapt.

My foolish lover's pride plunging to the depths.

When I awoke, my horns had receded.

My soul, defeated.

I had sprouted wings, as black as the sin

That had caused me to come to the bridge again.

Sarieno Kindfire of Black Wing


Penned by my hand on the 14th of Daedalan, in the year 462 AF.