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Hand Of Doom

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He literally ruled with an iron fist,
not many kings could claim that,
A fist so strong it could break through walls,
And leave utter destruction behind Him

Many stories exist about the iron fist
and how He'd obtained such power,
Myths told in pubs, stories of wonder,
And war stories crowned in glory

The real story is gone, lost in the haze,
But the truth does not really matter,
The fact it exists, is as strong as He says,
is all He needs to keep power

For there had been a war, a terrible war,
Fought over sovereignty, power, and riches,
And the bitter price for peace, it seemed,
Was four countries left in ruins

The most popular story, told around campfires,
was that He'd injured His hand in the Rebellion
when some Royalist dog had tried to cut it off
as He tried to destroy the palace

But it hadn't worked, He tore it all down,
The palace looted for all it was worth,
And as for His hand, it survived till the end,
In a gauntlet stolen from a suit of armour

An unstoppable force made moveable objects
Sweeping them right out of His way
As He took hold of the war and the throne that lay bare
After the fires burnt out leaving ashes

His iron fist became His authority,
Smashing anyone who dared to resist,
His power absolute, unconquerable king,
His genie chained to His side

How it fused to His skin is also unknown,
Though the stories multiply like fire,
Perhaps His hand simply healed around it,
Rather than His genie making it so

Some say the glove was made for the war,
That He always intended to wear it,
Yet others will say His hand never bled,
It’s just mythology taking hold

Whatever the source, it never comes off,
It is part of Him now and forever,
Protected by magic, He cannot be harmed,
He is untouchable, now, and immortal

That is the tale of Lord Greg's iron fist,
And how He took over the country,
Now, the story about how He lost His eye,
well, that's another tale altogether...