The door of the tavern creaked open, the low murmur of conversation and the scent of roasting meat spilling out into the evening air. The man who entered was unremarkable in appearance—mid-height, lean, with a face that could blend into any crowd. His cloak, dark and weathered, brushed the floor as he stepped inside, his boots silent on the wooden floor. He moved with practiced ease, scanning the dim-lit room for his target.
His name was Corbin, and conning people out of their coin was as natural to him as breathing.
The tavern was a familiar one, rustic and worn, with low beams and flickering candles that struggled against the encroaching gloom. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm, orange glow across the room. The patrons seemed content to sit in their own little worlds, either nursing their drinks or trading quiet stories of their own.
Corbin made his way to the back corner, slipping into a seat where the shadows hid him well. He placed a coin on the table—enough to signal his intent to stay, but not enough to draw attention. His eyes remained fixed on the doorway, waiting.
He was a patient man. A skilled one, too, for patience was an art. The target—a merchant with deep pockets but a weak constitution—was due for a little “game of chance” that evening. A simple mark. A routine hustle.
But tonight, something was different.
A soft melody drifted from the corner of the room, drawing his attention. He narrowed his eyes, squinting against the shadows that clustered like ghosts in the tavern. She sat there, on a raised platform near the hearth, a lute cradled in her arms. Her long, auburn hair shimmered under the faint light, and the soft curve of her face was framed by the flickering glow of the fire.
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A priestess of Amoria.
Her voice, when it joined the music, was rich, its presence dominating the room despite the common folk seated at the bar and scattered tables. The tavern grew still as the first notes spilled from her lips. A ballad Corbin had heard many times, but from her lips, with magic interlacing the words, the song felt completely different.
The melody was soft at first, like a breeze rustling through leaves, but there was a hidden power in it, something that stirred the very air. Corbin felt it pull at the edges of his consciousness, tugging him into the song as if he, too, were caught in the weave of her voice.
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Of hopes denied and power earned.
To claim a force both dark and vast,
A chance to break from his haunted past.
Where shadows twist and dragons fall,
Heroes rise but heed the call.
Flames fade low in night's last breath,
Bound to power, bound to death.
A glint of steel, a crossbow's song,
Guided by stars as nights drag long.
To seize what makes the mighty rule,
Yet fear coils tight, his path turns cruel.
Two fires blaze like the raging storm,
One fed by grief, the other by scorn.
Each flame a cry, each claw a tear,
While a witness falls, ensnared in their glare.
Where shadows twist and dragons fall,
Heroes rise, but darkness calls.
Flames breathe low in night’s dark breath,
Bound to fight,
Bound to death.
In tremors and thunder, a final stand,
Their light fades out like prints on sand.
Yet echoes linger where courage bled,
Leaving scars where hope lay dead.
So heed the silence after fire’s last light,
Where ghosts drift on the edge of sight.
For where shadows twist and heroes fall,
The price of freedom may take it all.
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