The Ballad of Kaoz the Soul Harvester

In shadows deep, where Chaos dwells,
Where spirits wail like funeral bells,
He walks between the worlds of men,
And realms where gods won’t tread again.

His face a mask of bone and ash,
His gaze ignites the soul to crash.
With every step, the ground gives way,
To whispers lost and skies of gray.

Oh, mournful winds that call his name,
Beware his path of death and flame.
For those who see the ghostly chain
Shall know no dawn, but endless pain.

He reaps the breath, the strength, the fire,
And feeds them to his heart’s desire.
The orbs that swirl with stolen might,
Their glow devours both day and night.

A curse? A priest? A god’s design?
A broken soul, yet so divine.
Infused with Chaos’ maddened song,
His war of death drags mortals long.

The warriors fall, the mages weep,
Their magic his to drink and keep.
The specters rise to heed his cry,
Their voices scream, "We cannot die!"

And when the battlefields grow still,
Kaoz, unbound, ascends the hill.
He plants his staff within the ground,
Where ghosts and gods alike are bound.

But even power fades to dust—
A fragile throne, a brittle trust.
For someday, Chaos shall demand
The reaper’s blade from his own hand.

So listen well, when winds do wail,
And spectral chains begin their tale.
For Kaoz rides, and souls will flee,
Beneath the dark of destiny.