An old man sitting on a chair in front of the inn, strumming the strings of a lute.

He sang for all who would listen.

Coins were thrown into his hat.

Every man needs the truth.

And in every song, there is some.

***

As the sun sets on Iridia's land,

A burning sky, ablaze and grand,

An eerie glow, casts shadows long,

As darkness creeps, with stealthy song.

The kingdom falls with a heavy hand,

A once-great power, now grains of sand,

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Towers crumble, walls break down,

As Iridia's fate wears a mournful crown.

The magic that once flowed through the land,

Now vanished, like a wave on the sand,

Leaving nothing but grief and pain,

As people struggle, to rise again.

The people of Iridia once proud,

Now humbled and broken, in disavowed,

Their spirits dampened, their hearts heavy,

As they try to survive, but feeling unsteady.

The land that once flourished and thrived,

Now barren, a land of woes contrived,

The trees that once grew tall and proud,

Now nothing but stumps, fallen and bowed.

In the midst of this desolate place,

Aiden wanders with a solemn grace,

A lone figure in a land of despair,

Searching for hope, but finding just air.

Thus begins Aiden's journey, dark and rough,

As he seeks to rise, from ashes and tough,

A journey of courage, and of strife,

As he fights to restore Iridia to life.

***