In Novograd, a city of old, There was a man, feared and bold, Known as Voron, the Raven's hold, A kingpin of opium, stories told.

With his ravens, jet-black as coal, He ruled the streets, with an iron control, A watchful eye, sharp as a knoll, All who saw them, trembling with soul.

Kind to his people, his flock he'd feed, Charity given, a generous deed, But those who crossed, had cause to plead, For the Raven's wrath, they would surely bleed.

His ravens, they feasted on enemy dead, A symbol of power, a fear widespread, For those who dared, on this path to tread, Would meet a fate, dark and dread.

Thus the Raven ruled, with justice swift, Feared and respected, his people uplifted, A man of contrasts, his foes he outwitted, In Novograd, the Raven's legend persisted.