The mist had taken him away
a different place, yet the same
worlds apart things mooved the same ways everywhere
the nobles and the rich made the rules
the poor men and commoners payed the price.
poor mans justice was only served by their own hands.
he had been a soldier, untill a noble craved his wife.
she was abducted, yet chose the dagger herself
the same dagger that tore every last scream from him.
he hunted down those of his company too, before he had to run.
always running it seems.
mercenary, killer, scavenger he got by as needed.
yet nothing filled the void after the last screams.
Ghostwalking
a corpse already
dead inside
so the mist provided nothing new.
just a new beginning
of a new ending