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A poem by Tanador, mostly about Kheizget:

Tell tales of dominion, for I hear it in the wind.
Yield sight into the choking mind and what it will portend.

Solid darksound walks in trees, a death none can rescind.
The branches cut from family boughs can never be rekinned.

Sped messenger to prophet, prepared to tear and rend,
Dispatched into darkness, delivered violence for a friend.

Prepared to fight alone and motionless to defend,
The prophet's wooden will casts down the blackness, dark sounds bend.

Binding fear need not be chains, thrice locked up and pinned,
but a path to bravery. Future safe, the forest grinned.

Light dispels the darkness of the sinners for the sinned.
"It shall not happen here," cried out the prophet in the end.