Year 5482 of the Divine Era
Deep in the dying kingdom, where life was snuffed and castles crumbled,
A place where only death can thrive,
and simple people can't survive,
a lonesome soldier walks his way, broken, beat, and humbled.
No destiny can stop the man from reaching his desire,
The eye of horror ate his thoughts, but could not quench the fire,
His life is waning, skin is rotting, soon the darkness is his home,
He longs to slay the beast, and meet his maker on their golden throne.
The mountain's reached, the ordeal's past,
The mountain moves, the man's aghast,
Unseen probes are reaching out,
His mind now starts to fill with doubt.
He screams a prayer into the sky,
Clutches his blade and holds it high,
To plunge it down with all his might
Into the horror's giant eye.
The soldier cries pure tears of joy, as he is doused in blackest blood,
But as he celebrates his palm, his mind is filled with dread,
The horror made a cruel ploy, the soldier's now part of it's brood,
His mind now calm, his spirit gone, he walks the land among the dead.
- Gorbolian Poem
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