In shadows cast by ancient stone,
A deadly figure, barely grown,
With daggers sharp and spirit cold,
This tiny hunter, fierce and bold.
Through misty realms where players dwell,
Casting forth a deadly spell,
Silent footsteps, quiet breath,
Bringing swift and certain death.
His victims never see him come,
Think his stature leaves him dumb,
Until poison finds their veins,
And life force slowly wanes.
On Hallows Eve he loves to prowl,
Beneath the moon's unholy scowl,
This miniature assassin's might,
Claims countless souls on darker nights.
