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Porter felt an uneasiness as his feet sank into the stench ridden swamp. He had been warned by the old woman not to pursue the dark rider, but in his rage he paid her no mind. Porter would bring vengeance to the rider, and his evil master. He swore by things most fowl and unholy that if the Lord Blog were given to him in battle, he would renounce the crystal thrown which he had so ardently defended, and would give his own soul over to the demons, to be savaged for all eternity. Porter no longer concerned himself with the beauty of the holy city or his vows to the noble King. Revenge was now all that his heart desired, and It burned in him like a fever. The mighty warrior dropped to his knees, and the vile water of the forbidden swamp covered him to his belt. He drew the dagger, gifted him by the now dead princess and drew it across his bare forearm. As the flow pooled in his palm he mingled it with the filthy water and drank it down. With this final defiling act Porter once again purposed himself to the task. The dark rider would lay dead at his feet by moon's end. His bleeding corps befouled by the once noble warrior, and by the end of the next, the evil lord's armies would be defeated, they're bloated bodies strewn across the once beautiful land. Blog died on a cold winter morning in the courtyard of his black palace. Porter's sword had entered his belly and opened him like a goose at Christmas table. The King pleaded with Porter for a final blow to end the pain, but the vengeful Knight would hear none of it. He had Blog's black thrown brought out. Porter sat himself on it and taunted the fallen king, as he drifted from life. When the spectacle had ended Porter stood to his feet, and with a voice of thunder announced to the people, "I am your King!" I will reign from my black thrown! I will rule you in sorrow, and fill the land with my hatred! Your bread shall be my filth! Your bread shall be my filth!" Then softly as only to be heard by those closest to the thrown, "Your bread shall be my filth. I am your king." Then quieter still, as if afraid to hear himself speak it. "I am Blog."