A friend told me to post this here,
although I thought that just a mere
poem would make the topic miss.
Well, anyway, I present you guys this:
First one the stubborn, kept secrets within,
was also the first to hunt down his own kin.
The Second one peaceful, forgiveness his pace,
his life had been ended with a smile on his face.
The Third one proud and without care,
now weeping and cold in the dark somewhere.
Fourth one short-tempered with childish behaviour,
seeking out only revenge he could savour.
Fifth often forgotten, too fast to be seen,
still eager to fulfil his promise to 15.
The Sixth the untamed, the wildest offspring,
now executioner and the Wolven King
To a heavy duty the Seventh was bound,
masochistic, yet proud and standing his ground.
The Eighth was the sadist and fear was his reign,
too twisted to ever take shape again.
The Ninth was divine, all daemons he’d sear,
killed by his brother, leaving a bloody tear.
The flesh is weak, replace all you must,
though slain was the Tenth by his person of trust.