Find a pretty ring once worn by someone terribly important.

Pointy. Dusty, allegedly still holds a few spells.

Heavy, slightly cursed, and full of secrets.

Broken, yes. But somehow still it hums.

Find it, blow it and see what happens.

From a dragon’s left pinky. Still warm. Handle with care.

May ruin surprises.

It has the number 8 on it. Why? Nobody knows. Maybe ask it. Slowly.

All relics, now thine. Shiny, haunted, and slightly stolen.

Reached the entry to the Underworld.

Thou didst prevail. The world still turns, though now it bows a bit.

Chose gold o’er glory. The gods took note. They’re not mad, just disappointed.

Swift as wind, careless of tales. Who needs lore when there's glory ahead?

The bones stack high. Monsters whisper thy name... and run.

Win, lose, despair. All roads were walked. Few return so burdened.

No bell, no whistle, just grit. The echoes were thine alone.

Mountains parted ‘neath thy tread, By claw of flame thy path was led.

What once was pain, now healeth scar.

The blade of rust did burn within, A second breath, thy soul did win.

As thou diedst, The past bent back to spare thy bone.