A man in a dark blue, gold-trimmed robe holds a glowing golden sword in a stone castle hall with torches and floating mystical symbols.

Like a word wizard, I smith my sword a blazen blade in shade of gold. Made in a furious fire, My enemies fate be dire. When I'll meet them, they'll reek my smell. A mystical musky hell. Flee they will, Further still, when I cast my spell. I'm no ordinary practicioner, my words roll like a river, out of my magical mouth - it makes them quiver, like a suckerpunch in their liver. A fat feisty combat, with this crazy cat, will leave you dropping your hat. Stay far away, is what they'll say, whenever I come their way. Ver más