Thus the Reaper picked up his tools,

He took to his hands the metals forged in blood,

He reached for the scythe with anger and wrath,

According to his oath he upheld his mantle.

Looking towards the foggy moors,

The haze set upon his cold hands.

In the early morning hours he was awoken,

Awoken from a slumber that should not have been touched.

Down upon the evil men he swept,

And the Reaper became...Death.