The Man Who Does Ill, Ill Must

Black Smoke, The Flickering Sister Of Fire.

Justice Inclines Her Scales So That Wisdom Comes At The Price Of Suffering.

For Not Many Men, The Proverb Saith, Can Love A Friend Whom Fortune Prospereth Unenvying.

It Is Not The Oath That Makes Us Believe The Man, But The Man The Oath.

Watchful Are The Gods Of All Hands With Slaughter Stained. The Black Furies Wait, And When A Man Has Grown By Luck, Not Justice, Great, With Sudden Overturn Of Chance They Wear Him To A Shade, And, Cast Down To Perdition, Who Shall Save Him?