Isle of Night
When the characters begin the journey to the island, read the following text aloud:
The wind has steadied now, carrying the fleet southward beneath a heavy sky, just as it has for the past week.
A dozen ships move in quiet formation along the southern shores of Taretza. Each vessel sails under a different banner, drawn from various corners of the world, yet all follow the same grim course.
Three ships of the Jozu Dynasty slice the waves in disciplined tandem, their red sails taut with wind. Etched in lacquered hulls are symbols of water, and painted across the sails a symbol of wind. Their crew stands in practiced silence, eyes turned forward, waiting.
The twin vessels of the Banyak Principality glint with polished brass and darkwood railings, old trading ships repurposed for battle. Lanterns sway from their beams, casting warm light that doesn’t quite reach the cold unease in the sailors’ eyes.
Nearby, the three ships from Eshiesal move with rigid grace. Blue-and-silver tabards ripple over chainmail, and disciplined guards patrol the deck with ceremonial spears, joined by a squadron of elites trained in firearms, who keep an eye on the horizon.
The next two loom heavier than the rest — the ironclad warships of the Dakhm Empire, adorned with dragonic motifs and glowing sigils of power. Smoke curls from its central chimney, and its crew moves with sharp precision, soldiers forged by discipline and recent conflict.
Then comes the vessel of Niduin, elven-crafted and finely built — tall sails catching the wind like silken wings, hull carved from silvered timber. It glides with serene elegance, leaving a trail of golden leaves in the seafoam behind it.
At the rear, the ship of Fiodair Diondur sways like a living thing — hull shaped from tree-trunk and root, its single sail a broad leaf stretched taut by breeze and druidic powers. The elves aboard speak little, their eyes turned not to the sea, but to the skies.
Finally, not long before you would reach the island, another ship approaches the fleet. A ship with no flag, but its construction is reminiscent of the Banyak vessels. Crafted from darkwood and polished brass. When asked to identify themselves, they respond that they represent the interests of the Umbral Veil and the continued existence of the material plane.
There is little conversation between ships, no songs, no signals — only the sound of creaking wood, sighing wind, and the hush that comes before something breaks.
Somewhere ahead lies the island. Shrouded in mist. Scarred by ritual.
And at its heart, the impossible — a god not born, but made.
If it wakes... the world will not endure what follows.
And so you sail onward. Not as conquerors. Not as saviors.
But as the last hand left to play.
As the character comes into sight of the island, read the following text aloud:
But as the last hand left to play.
The island rises from the sea like a jagged tooth, its rocky shores slanting sharply into the churning waters below. As it draws near, daylight dims unnaturally—no matter the hour, the skies darken into a hazy dusk. The sea batters the island relentlessly, filling the air with the smell of salt and the constant roar of surf. Atop the island rests a fortress of dark, weathered stone, thick and worn, as if built to withstand not just siege but time itself. Its architecture is grim and heavy, dominated by narrow spires and high buttresses that press up toward the sky. The shores are cluttered with makeshift covers, half-collapsed tents, and broken towers clawing skyward around the looming central fortress. Smoke coils from dozens of places around the settlement, filling the air with the taste of iron and old fire.
From what would be the center of the island, in the middle of the fort, rises a massive, partially collapsed tower, its upper reaches shattered and hollowed by some long-passed calamity. Above it floats a vast orb of black energy, streaked with veins of dull gold and cracked across its surface like fractured glass that pulses faintly like slow heartbeats. The cracks emit a dim, molten glow that pulses slowly, casting an uneven glow that dances like dying embers over the shattered tower below. As the island fully comes into view, you begin to notice lights and tall plumes of smoke start appearing on the island's shore and among the structures surrounding the fort.
They know you are here.
The Fleet
The fleet has the following special characters- Jozu Dynasty: Takemura, Ati Tolem-Kar, Akari, Niwa Ujihiro, Crystal, Altas & Crew.
- Eshiesal: Brew & Bobo, Nikoudo, Kholek, Sidekick Squad, Gaius.
- Banyak Principality: Iman Sidari (Court Mage) and Yuliani Berasa (Commander).
- Dakhm Empire: Adhemar Kassan, Hero.
- Niduin: Ironhand, Rodan, Eleesa.
- Fiodair: Llewellyn Gwaeddan, Morai.
- Unmarked Ship: Cora, Kajafas.
- Same as characters: Silver and Feight.
Fortress City of Kundaar
Originally belonging to a clan of dwarves known as the Kundaar, this great fortress was a place of awe. The fortress was destroyed when the dwarves accidentally aggravated the demons nesting beyond the tear into the Abyss, which sparked the conflict that started the Outwars. As the characters begin their approach towards the island, read the following text aloud:
After being given a brief respite to prepare, the air above the island churns to life.
From the island’s heart and crumbling battlements, wings beat the stale air. First one, then dozens. Great beasts of bone and ragged flesh claw their way into the sky — stitched monstrosities that scream like dying birds. Between them, smaller shapes twist and spiral: demons of ash, soot, and ember, flitting like smoke through the air. Their bodies pulse with heat, flickering and unstable — each one a living cinder.
From ship to ship, horns sound. Orders echo. Runes flare. The fleet responds.
On the decks of the Eshiesal warships, riflemen take position behind battlements while minotaur shock troops, blessed by dragons, brace along the rails, weapons drawn, waiting for the beasts to come within reach.
From the grown wood of the Fiodair ship, druids chant low and deep — old words that awaken the forest’s fury. A half-dozen elves begin to rise, feathers blooming across their bodies. In moments, they take wing — now giant eagles, circling upward to meet the swarm.
As the cascade of ash and bone reaches closer to the fleet, the bombardment begins.
Gouts of acid and lightning from the Dakhm ships tear through the approaching storm. While on the decks of the Niduin ship, mages raise colorful prismatic shields, as golden arrows streak skyward in elegant arcs, joined by cannon fire erupting from the Banyak vessels in synchronized rhythm — iron and flame hurtling toward the shoreline, hammering tents, towers, and cultists alike.
The Dynasty ships' decks glow in a fourfold dance — the elements surging together in harmonious destruction. Winds howl from the decks, summoned in spiraling gales that tear through the enemy formation, scattering demons and snapping bony wings. The gales are joined by massive shards of stone hurled like ballista bolts, striking down demons and smashing scaffolded towers apart in clouds of dust. Simultaneously, lines of red-gold heat streak skyward, exploding among the undead beasts in bursts of cleansing flame, turning rotting wings to ash and bone to dust. Waves of seawater surge upward in shimmering arcs, shielding the ships from flame and ash.
Additionally, a shape flies up from one of the Esiesal ships as a white and fluffy flying wyvern dashes toward the incoming force, mounted by a lean-looking half-orc who yells loudly as the pair disappears behind a curtain of enemies.
From the side of the ship, you hear a calm voice ring out: "Best of luck to you," as Feight walks up to the railing. You can only presume a grin stretches his face behind the mask as he readies himself and goes, "Last one there is a rotten egg," before jumping over the railing, and a short flash of light shimmers where he jumped off.
The air is thick with smoke, screeches, and screams. Undead wyverns dive from above, bone wings screaming in the wind. Ash-demons twist through the air, trailing fire, bursting like embers on impact. One of the demons makes it through — it crashes against a ship’s mast, erupting in a gout of bright flames. Another bursts in midair, showering the deck with smoldering cinders.
There is no turning back. The battle has begun.
The characters will be teleported into the courtyard in the inner circle of the city. When they do, read the following text aloud:
As Silver begins to ready the spell to bring you to the island, a powerful, hot, dry wind passes across the deck from the island. As you turn to look at it, you see how the pillars of smoke have gathered into a massive black cloud. The smoke transforms into a monstrous ashen form with bright ember-lit eyes filled with hate. As the demon of smoke shifts slightly in the breeze, the entire cloud begins to move across the water toward the fleet.
A cascade of gunfire and spells fly toward the cloud, with most simply passing through the ashen mist. As the demon continues to move forward, a sphere of pure blackness appears above it, conjured by Morai. The orb draws the soot and dust into it like a vortex, slowing the approach, but it is not enough. As the being begins to reel back an arm, readied to swing it across the entire fleet, a green light flashes beneath them, and after a brief silence, the ocean parts as a pillar of rocks from the ocean floor ascends, striking the demon in the underside of the jaw, sending it flying upward. As the water foam and splashes settle, you see a titan of rock and earth, held together by willpower and a heart of stone, ready itself for a fistfight with a demon lord.
The ship’s deck groans beneath your feet as magic swells in the air around you. Silver stands at the center of the circle, his silver mask glinting with the light of distant fires. With a word and a gesture, the spell takes hold.
Beneath each of you, a sigil of white light unfurls—sharp lines and swirling glyphs crackling to life. There's a sudden pop, like air being snapped from its place, and the world changes.
From wood to dirt.
From roaring gunfire to distant screeching and yells. You stand in a ruined courtyard within the fortress walls—charred stone underfoot, shattered masonry strewn across the ground. All around you, crooked buildings loom, their windows hollow and dark. In the distance, muffled but easily noticeable, you still hear the battle—cannons roaring, wings shrieking through smoke-choked skies. Above the shattered tower before you, the black orb pulses. Veined with gold, cracked like glass under pressure, it hangs there—awaiting you. With each slow throb of light, it seems to drag at the air, like it’s breathing in silence. Silver appears beside you, breath sharp from the strain. “There—through that arch!” he says, pointing to a jagged opening at the tower’s base. “There’s a staircase—go now, before they catch on! I'll deal with the Genies.” Without waiting, he turns and sprints toward a different nearby structure, vanishing between its broken pillars and smoke.
From roaring gunfire to distant screeching and yells. You stand in a ruined courtyard within the fortress walls—charred stone underfoot, shattered masonry strewn across the ground. All around you, crooked buildings loom, their windows hollow and dark. In the distance, muffled but easily noticeable, you still hear the battle—cannons roaring, wings shrieking through smoke-choked skies. Above the shattered tower before you, the black orb pulses. Veined with gold, cracked like glass under pressure, it hangs there—awaiting you. With each slow throb of light, it seems to drag at the air, like it’s breathing in silence. Silver appears beside you, breath sharp from the strain. “There—through that arch!” he says, pointing to a jagged opening at the tower’s base. “There’s a staircase—go now, before they catch on! I'll deal with the Genies.” Without waiting, he turns and sprints toward a different nearby structure, vanishing between its broken pillars and smoke.
The Abyssal Gate
As the characters reach the entrance hall to the abyssal gate, read the following text aloud:
The stairway ends in a rectangular chamber carved from dark volcanic stone. The air is warm and dry, heavy with the scent of soot and age. Faint torchlight flickers along the weathered walls, their once-precise dwarven carvings worn soft by time. Ahead, a set of heavy double doors looms—iron-banded with golden engravings, sealed tight. Standing before the door are two figures—a man and a woman.
The woman is clad in fine silken robes of deep red and black, contrasting her pale-white skin. Her eyes are a bright, bloody red, and her black hair falls around her shoulders like a waterfall. Her hand wields a crooked staff adorned with a bony spine and broken skull, within which rests a ruby-like gem.
The man is clad in finely crafted yet simple clothes. A brown leather jacket over a white shirt. His dirty-blonde hair is parted in the middle and falls along the sides of his face. In his hand, he holds an unwieldy large rapier of pale silver, its hilt carved into a seashell.
After the characters defeat the cultists and open the door to the abyssal gate, read the following text aloud:
The doors groan open to a stone balcony jutting over a massive chamber inside the tower. The air is warm and dry, heavy with the scent of soot and age. Far above, the black orb hovers in the broken tower’s heights, its pulsing glow casting long shadows across the stone. Far below—nearly 300 feet down—a colossal circular gate, golden and ancient, lies embedded in the floor like a sealed vault. Seventy-five feet from center to edge, its scarred surface is crowded with ancient engravings and runes, etched so deeply they seem to hum with power.
When it feels right after the characters reach the gate, the ritual completes, and read the following text aloud:
The air shivers as the orb above the tower fractures—not in one clean break, but in a thousand jagged snaps, like glass chattering in a frozen wind. From its ruin, shards of glowing gold spiral down, some no larger than a coin, others the size of shields, all drifting down like glowing snowflakes. Through the falling light, a shape descends.
They emerge where the orb once hung—an angelic figure with skin pale as bleached bone and hair flowing like silvered silk in the windless air. A single wing, black feathered and streaked in crimson, unfurls from their right shoulder, while their left arm glitters with frost, plates of ice clinging to muscle carved like marble.
As they float downward, their eyes are closed, and they begin to utter something: "O lost souls, whose ire stand before me. Heed my call, and I shall grant thy desire." And as he does, over a dozen black, magical butterflies gather around them. Among them, the figure turns its head toward two, who stand out from the rest. One is black like the rest, but instead of the purple glow of the rest, this has a deep red. The other standout, white and gold, yet its form seems to stutter and glitch as it moves. "You should not be here. No matter."
Otherwise, they continue to float down in eerie silence, landing upon the gate with the stillness of falling ash, where they lift one hand toward the empty air above: "Nir'Ingole!".
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then—a scream of metal through the sky as a spear of radiant gold, its blade burning blue, plunges down the tower. It lands square into their palm with absolute certainty, as if it had always belonged there.
Without a word, but a single motion, they slam it into the gate—the impact echoing through the chamber like a war drum. Only now do their eyes open—revealing a gaze like tempered steel. From their left eye, crimson tears begin to fall, streaking pale skin as they fix their attention on you.
"Let my vengeance begin."
Beyond the Gate
With a deep, grinding tremor, the keys begin to turn—ancient mechanisms groaning to life as sigils flare with molten light. With a quake, dust shakes from the walls. Runes blaze brighter, then split apart as the gate slowly peels open, a warm and dry wind bursting through the seam.
Where once there was only a metal platform, now yawns a tear into another realm. A jagged mountain top of crimson rock stretches out beneath a sky lit by a baleful red sun bleeding across the horizon, casting warped shadows and staining the stone like old blood.
Beneath the gate is the top Mount Ebal, the tallest mountain on the 1st layer of The Abyss Pazunia, the plain of infinite portals. The top of the mountain is plateau-like and relatively flat, and atop it, the six gods who took the largest part in the sealing of the gate built mechanisms that would allow their followers to activate the closing of the gate.
At intiative score 20, if all trials are "completed", the gate moves towards closing, otherwise moving towards opening.
Trial of Asmodeus - Intelligence
Two throne-like seats, carved from red-orange stone that matches the mountain’s raw skin, face each other in eternal standoff. The thrones are blocky and sharp-edged, worn smooth where hands might have rested, yet untouched by dust. Between them rests a solid stone table, carved from the same fire-warmed rock, etched faintly with ancient infernal motifs.
Atop the table lie three chessboards, each in the middle of a game. The boards are ringed with thin magical filigree, and the pieces — shaped into tiny demons and noble devils — rest on engraved arcane bases. Their sigils flicker faintly with buried enchantment — especially those under the devil-shaped pieces, which glow with a dull, directive light.
This trial features three chessboards that are 1 move away from reaching checkmate, and the trial requires the characters to find this solution. By spending 1 Action, a player gets a number of seconds equal to twice their character's Intelligence Score to solve the puzzle.
In addition, when they investigate the board, they must make a DC 25 Intelligence (Investigation) check or see a version featuring illusions, showing fake solutions that the character might try.
If they fail to find the correct solution, the board resets with no other adverse effects for the players.
Trial of Daia - Charisma
Three short stone podiums are each encircled by a gathering of statues.
Surrounding the first podium, which bears a polished mirror surface, is a ring of statues carved in lively, animated poses. Tavern-goers mid-laugh; a farmer with his cap raised; a baker offering a pie with an exaggerated wink. One clutches a tankard aloft, while another slaps a knee as if in the middle of a hearty chuckle. Their expressions are open, jovial, and inviting.
The statues surrounding the second podium, its top also replaced with a gleaming mirror, are proud and tall—soldiers clad in detailed armor, weapons held high. Some cheer with mouths open in a silent roar, while others clutch banners caught mid-wave. A few stand shoulder to shoulder, shields up in formation. One statue has a hand on the shoulder of another, like a commander giving strength through presence alone.
The final circle of statues features tall figures clad in robes, silks, and fine jewelry, standing in elegant poses with poised attention around a podium that lacks the shimmering mirror surface of the others. Several statues seem to be caught mid-reaction—one statue leans forward slightly, lips parted in silent anticipation; another has a hand to their chest as though taken aback. A third claps politely with a faint smile, while yet another strokes their beard with theatrical curiosity, and a few look sideways at each other as if murmuring silent approval.
This trial features three podiums surrounded by statues. To complete the trial, a character must stand on a podium and tell a tale or a rousing speech, depending on the statues around them. This must be done for each of the three podiums. Two of the podiums, the Delight (surrounded by commoners) and the Triumph (surrounded by soldiers), are replaced with mirrors made by Graz'zt. For the podiums with mirrors, the character must invert the content of the tale or tell it in reverse.
Delight
While standing on the podium surrounded by delighted commoners, a character must tell a good joke or funny tale that would delight the tavern goers in their otherwise simple lives.Triumph
While standing on the podium surrounded by roaring soldiers, a character must give a grand speech to inspire the soldiers heading to battle.Influence
While standing on the podium surrounded by nobles, a character must regale them with a retelling of their exploits as a toast.Trial of Loric - Strength
Before you stands a single imposing statue, carved from the same stone as the mountain. It depicts a mighty gladiator in the midst of struggle—shoulders hunched, arms braced forward, feet planted wide in a stance of sheer force. Muscles strain in the frozen moment, veins and sinew rendered with reverent detail. The red sun casts deep shadows across the sculpted form, making the warrior seem alive beneath its harsh light. The statue stands atop a low stone pedestal, its base heavy and worn. Around it, the ground bears long, shallow grooves mixed with cracked flakes and trails of fine dust.
This trial is relatively simple. It features a statue standing atop a small stone platform, and it must be pushed to physically close the gate. Each round, the statue must continue to be pushed toward its final location, and the gate closes with the statue. If the other trials have not been completed, the gate will close, but it will reopen if they stop holding the statue back.
Trial of Naruil - Dexterity
The wind keens low across a broken stretch of stone, where fissures claw at the earth like ancient wounds. These cracks plunge into blackness, and thin mists cling to their edges. Between the crevices, a steady flow of crystalline water glides across the uneven ground, tracing strange patterns.
At the far end stands a statue of smooth, pale marble, its back to the void beyond. It holds a broad bowl in both hands, tilted forward so water spills from it in a silent cascade. The flow never ceases, creating shimmering runnels that coat the ground and feed tiny, ethereal waterfalls into the chasms. Text is carved into the statue's base:
From vessel poured to water’s edge, should guarding hope still be thy pledge. A hundred steps, then twenty more, perhaps five extra, but none before.
Step true and straight, do not delay, the dread beneath awaits those who stray.
The character must cross the waters to the statue by spending 120-125 feet of movement on the water. Certain locations in the water are trapped by Demogorgon. When a creature crosses a trapped area, it must make a DC 27 Dexterity Saving Throw. On a failure, it takes 3d6 force damage and becomes prone. On a success, they take no damage and are not prone.
Trial of Tyr - Constitution
An ancient stone staircase rises to a wide mountain outcropping, slick with moisture and scattered with strange, iridescent lichen. The air smells faintly metallic and sour. The ground looks soft — not quite solid, not quite swamp. At its heart rises a rusted flagpole, nearly bent with age but still defiantly upright. A deep blue flag clings limply at the top, then flutters with sudden force whenever the pulse hits. Every few seconds, a shimmer rolls out from the flag like a ripple on glass, distorting the air and sending an invisible wave across the outcropping.
As long as a character is holding the flag at initiative 20, the trial counts as completed, but it does not count as completed if it is not held. Creatures inside the field are considered poisoned and have a -2 penalty to their AC, and a creature that ends its turn inside the field of magical energy takes 20 force damage. This damage increases by 20 for every turn that the creature remains inside the field.
Trial of Silvanus - Wisdom
The grove is a pocket of surreal serenity tucked among the mountaintop crags, where the air feels unnaturally still and the light falls in dapples of emerald and gold. The trees surrounding it bear vivid green leaves, almost too vibrant to be real, and the grass underfoot is lush and soft as moss. The space feels curated, as though nature itself were arranged
Near the grove’s entrance, a low wooden table is cluttered with curious objects: a yellowed map curled at the corners, a candle burnt low, a hand-mirror gone foggy with age, a dusty skull, a sealed bottle, a book and a clutch of scrolls, a sheathed sword with a worn hilt — and more. It looks like the aftermath of study, travel, or ritual, frozen mid-thought.
At the far end, a weathered campsite lies in gentle disarray: a circle of blackened stones still faintly warm surrounds a burning log, a leaking barrel dripping into thirsty roots, and a low stump with a lute propped gently against it.
Opposite the camp, facing the open grove, stands a wide canvas on a crooked easel. The painting is halfway finished, full of bold strokes and soft touches — an abstract memory in the making. A brush rests in a pot of pigment at its base, like a gesture mid-thought.
At the center of the grove, a great tree with a hollowed burrow at its base rises like a sentinel. A patch of bark has been peeled back on its trunk, revealing a carved riddle etched in flowing, looping hand.
Four paths lie waiting — choose but one. Let six truths rise before you're done. No less, no more, the line must stay, then place them here beneath this array.
This trial features several riddles and objects scattered around a grove. A set of four riddles is written at the central tree in the grove and acts as a starting point for the puzzle. The trial consists of the character finding a string of objects, starting from one of the ones written on the central tree, and then solving the riddle on the new object until they have found a total of six objects.
As an action, a player gets a number of seconds equal to three times their wisdom score to solve the puzzles. Additionally, characters with high perception might get additional hints, and should a character knows the language of flowers, they can get some hints regarding the meanings of the flowers in the grove.
| Path | Plaque | Step 1 | Step 2 | Step 3 | Step 4 | Step 5 | Step 6 |
| 1 | My life can be measured in an hour; I only serve to be devoured. Slim, I am quick. Fat, I am slow. My purpose is my greatest foe. Candle |
If you drop me, I’m sure to crack. Give me a smile, and I’ll always smile back. Mirror |
I have cities, but no houses to reside in; forests, but no trees; water, but no fish; and roads, but none that walk them. Map |
Though fear may knock and doubts arise, I’m the fire that lights the skies. In darkest night, I stand and face, the storm ahead with steady grace. Courage (Edelweiss) |
I never rest, yet never tire, the heavens my shining attire. Though none can hold me in their hand, I rule the sky, over both sea and land. Sun (Sunflower) |
I wear a leather coat and hold the key. To worlds unknown and history. Whispered stories, wisdom told. Within my leaves, both new and old. Book |
I grow without sun or soil; I provide nourishment or deliver you from this mortal coil. Mushroom |
| 2 | I grow without sun or soil; I provide nourishment or deliver you from this mortal coil. Mushroom |
I don’t have eyes, but once I did see. I once had thoughts, now white and empty. Skull |
I am not alive, but I do grow. To make it quicker, you might blow. I do not breathe, but I still need air. To darkened nights, I bring my flare. Fire (Fireplace) |
A window made of varied hues, but only those my makers choose. And once their soul is captured there, people pay to come and stare. Canvas |
I can bring you joy or sorrow, or everything in between. I have yet to feel, smell, or even be seen. Those who know me are but none. I have many types, but I am really just one. Music (Lute) |
You can't see it, but you know when it's there. It lingers in the glances, suspended in the air. It believes all things, and all things it bears, And there are those who are its object, who entertain it unaware. Love (Rose) |
I cloak the soul in heavy gray, steal the light and clouds the day, and hold my grip till time gives way. Sorrow (Hyacinth) |
| 3 | Bright as diamond, loud as thunder. Never still, a thing of wonder. Waterfall |
I shine brightest within the dark. I am there, I am the spark. To have me costs you nothing. To be without me costs you everything. Hope (Amaryllis) |
I wear a leather coat and hold the key. To worlds unknown and history. Whispered stories, wisdom told. Within my leaves, both new and old. Book |
I grow without sun or soil; I provide nourishment or deliver you from this mortal coil. Mushroom |
I don’t have eyes, but once I did see. I once had thoughts, now white and empty. Skull |
I am not alive, but I do grow. To make it quicker, you might blow. I do not breathe, but I still need air. To darkened nights, I bring my flare. Fire (Fireplace) |
A window made of varied hues, but only those my makers choose. And once their soul is captured there, people pay to come and stare. Canvas |
| 4 | You can't see it, but you know when it's there. It lingers in the glances, suspended in the air. It believes all things, and all things it bears, And there are those who are its object, who entertain it unaware. Love (Rose) |
I cloak the soul in heavy gray, steal the light and clouds the day, and hold my grip till time gives way. Sorrow (Hyacinth) |
If you drop me, I’m sure to crack. Give me a smile, and I’ll always smile back. Mirror |
I have cities, but no houses to reside in; forests, but no trees; water, but no fish; and roads, but none that walk them. Map |
Though fear may knock and doubts arise, I’m the fire that lights the skies. In darkest night, I stand and face, the storm ahead with steady grace. Courage (Edelweiss) |
I never rest, yet never tire, the heavens my shining attire. Though none can hold me in their hand, I rule the sky, over both sea and land. Sun (Sunflower) |
I wear a leather coat and hold the key. To worlds unknown and history. Whispered stories, wisdom told. Within my leaves, both new and old. Book |
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