They were four,
The gods of old.
And their tale this is,
The tale, of our misery.
First came Lord Dramgr,
He of the diamond spear.
The oldest, he is, as old as time,
And wiser, though stupid too.
For the years have broken,
The gem that was his mind,
And now he wanders, a mad rook,
Yet seeing all, as he desires.
Next was Smith Golgath,
He of the ruby crown.
He who gave up his godhood,
To protect his children, the mortals.
For he forged the flame,
The flame of hope,
The light that banished,
The dark from our lands.
Yet now he lays dead,
Betrayed by his kin,
His godhood lost,
His corpse torn asunder.
Then came Knight Meruith,
He of the obsidian bow.
The champion of the dead,
Patron of the dark,
And the undead army, he lead.
Champion to the conspiracy,
That flayed his brother,
without mercy.
He sees all mortals,
And seeks their souls.
Last in order is Lady Frida,
She of the sapphire sword.
The fairest of them all.
Her ambitions small,
Yet deadly, as are her traits.
She is the executioner,
The reaper of souls.
And judgement of the others she heeds,
Though the opinions, she seeds.
And together they formed,
The quartet of misery.
The trinity of doom,
And the last, our gloom.
