Win, lose, despair. All roads were walked. Few return so burdened.
Swift as wind, careless of tales. Who needs lore when there's glory ahead?
Chose gold o’er glory. The gods took note. They’re not mad, just disappointed.
All relics, now thine. Shiny, haunted, and slightly stolen.
The bones stack high. Monsters whisper thy name... and run.
No bell, no whistle, just grit. The echoes were thine alone.
From a dragon’s left pinky. Still warm. Handle with care.
Heavy, slightly cursed, and full of secrets.
May ruin surprises.
Pointy. Dusty, allegedly still holds a few spells.
Find it, blow it and see what happens.
Find a pretty ring once worn by someone terribly important.
It has the number 8 on it. Why? Nobody knows. Maybe ask it. Slowly.
Broken, yes. But somehow still it hums.
Reached the entry to the Underworld.
Mountains parted ‘neath thy tread, By claw of flame thy path was led.
What once was pain, now healeth scar.
As thou diedst, The past bent back to spare thy bone.
The blade of rust did burn within, A second breath, thy soul did win.
Thou didst prevail. The world still turns, though now it bows a bit.
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