Curator King
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This little human went to war,
Trazyn thought, I've seen this before.
Paused the battle with a phase-field gleam,
And shelved the soldier mid-scream.
This little psyker cried in dread,
So Trazyn put him in stay-sis instead.
A flick of code, a shutter of light,
Another oddity sealed up tight.
This little Aeldari tried to hide,
Warp-traced runes and spirit-tide.
But Trazyn blinked in with a neutral tone,
And made her bones his own.
This little Ork roared with might,
But fascinated Trazyn at first sight.
He locked the beast in a timeless loop,
Endless charge, eternal swoop.
This little Inquisitor shouted, Blasphemy!
As Trazyn catalogued him efficiently.
You're quite rare, the Necron mused,
Too bad your will's been disabused.
This little Tomb World's halls run deep,
Where stasis pods in silence sleep.
A Primaris here, a daemon there,
All arranged with utmost care.
Each case labeled, sealed, and stored,
By a being older than time ignored.
He watches still, with ageless grace,
Curator King of a lost, cold race.
So if you hear a strange click-click,
And feel time shift too quick,
Best freeze in place and pray he's done-
Trazyn only wants just one.
This little Tomb World's halls run deep,
Where stasis pods in silence sleep.
A Primaris here, a daemon there,
All arranged with utmost care.
Each case labeled, sealed, and stored,
By a being older than time ignored.
He watches still, with ageless grace,
Curator King of a lost, cold race.