He came from the west with a smirk and a spin, A coat full of secrets and smooth designed skin. His blade was so slender, his boots barely touched, And he spoke like a whisper that judged way too much. Oh Whispersteel, you slippery spark, You duel in the daylight, then vanish by dark. Your words are confusing, your stances are weird, But your mustache is sharp and your intelect sheared. He once beat a nano in verbal debate, By quoting a spoon and declaring it fate. He flirted with danger, with nobles and beasts— Then left mid-conversation to “ponder the East.” Oh Whispersteel, you riddling rogue, You once insulted a prince using only a brogue. You parry with panache, you sip with precision, You call your life art — we call it... a decision. He claims he once dueled a storm in the rain, And wooed a dimension (though she never called again). He’s fought on rooftops, in ruins, in style, And no one knows why, but we’d watch for a while. He doesn’t wear armor – just confidence, tight. He says “Pain is just passion spelled badly at night.” He’ll gift you a riddle, then steal all your boots, And vanish in smoke with your best friend’s loot. Oh Whispersteel, the mystery man, A hero, a menace, a one-man sham. If you meet him – beware. If you fight him – smile. You’ll lose with regret… but you’ll lose in style.
