Gather around all of you poets and bards,
Around icon ruins and piles of shards.
This lyrical lunacy shall come to an end,
As cries of anguish now fade into the wind.
Your words grate upon my ears, they hurt me so,
And it seems just as annoying from both citizen and foe.
So allow me to offer a proper lesson in lyrics,
Something beneficial to any who would hear it.

There was once a boy by the name of Kresslack,
Not much to his name but the pack on his back.
Trodding barefoot across the Savannah plains,
Seeking shelter where he could from the stinging rains.
Now it came to pass he entered Hashan's gates,
And took up swords forged of anger and hate.

A young Infernal was born that day in truth,
Wasting no time in proving himself quite couth.
Solitude without solace became his closest friend,
And long hours at the bar became his favorite trend.
The years passed and his eyes grew keen,
While his dour apearance turned his look mean.

Soon he realized Hashan just wasn't for him,
And packed up and left as if on a whim.
To the West he set his eyes and started his journey,
The trek up the mountains nearly leaving him on a gurney.
It seemed as if he was brought there by fate,
No turning back now as he strode through the gates.

In the years to folllow he shed his youth,
And the lessons learned cost him often a tooth.
Up to the ancient Fortress he climbed,
Marching to the tune of wails and not chimes.
Who should await him but a woman named Ulrike,
Who from him his very breath she nearly took.

Said she, "Come to the Naga, and I shall teach you well."
The invitation indeed did make his chest sweell
So he took up a dirk in right hand, in his left was a whip,
The whip craking sharp as venom gleamed on dirk tip.
Off he set to hang the heretics high,
Not caring if in the process he might die.

Then came the day when Ulrike was no more,
And under lapse of leadership he showed himself the door.
The Maldaathi would make for him a fine home,
Ensuring him well trained, his skills well honed.
"Take the oath boy, and serve the Lords well,
And on these seven Truths you shall dwell."

So once more he took up swords and gripped them tight,
Always willing to put up one hell of a fight.
And throughout his veins did an anger soon burn,
Growing thicker and more stubborn like milk in a churn.
Soon a traitor surfaced to have him cast out,
Under treasonous fallacies that raised such a shout.

A warrior now scorned and cast from his home,
Forced once more across the land to roam.
What's to the North? He thought to go look,
From him all his strength the journey nearly took.
What should he find but gates addorned in gold and black,
And a number of strangers ready to watch his back.

Ah, to find a home in truth, set him at ease,
And his worries soon drifted away on the summer breeze.
For here he has found loyalty, brotherhood and more,
All in a place that's quite close to the shore.
So forever shall he raise high the banner of black and gold,
As the armies of Ashtan march and wage war against those grown bold.

- Kresslack De'Verres, the Black Wolf
Steel Captain of the Steel Bastion

Penned by my hand on the 3rd of Miraman, in the year 573 AF.