How about poetry? Here's a saga
At last, the altar lays before his eyes.
Tall, menacing a runic armor stands beside
with arms resting on mighty cross guard
of flamberged obsidian greatsword.
The runes are old... unknown to him,
and dreadful chills make resolve thin.
As he steps forth with fading grin,
Whispers... envelop from within.
He grabs the hilt, ready to swing,
He prays for Tyrios's blessing
And steps inside the skull ring
as crystal shines and voices sing
... of life soon ending.
Loud cracks and scratches fill the room.
The armor gains emerald gloom
and with no care for why? or whom?
it swings to doom!
He dashes backwards with despair
as flamberged greatsword cuts the air
leaving behind a blazing trail
with roar, that makes the soul feel frail.
Halfswording, he steps in, plain,
to block the swing and thrust for gain.
His plan, was sound in his own mind
yet his blade shattered in the bind!
As edge and curiass loudly grind,
he staggers heavily behind.
A burst of rage! floods soul and mind...
Of fury! hero becomes blind.
"How can this be?! O, great Tyrios!
I wear your crest even in Tartaros!
I champion Your name through chaos!
I cannot fall! For I am pious!
Yet you've abandoned me in dire!?
This cannot be! I am no squire!
I am a champion with fire!
A knight! with glory and desire!"
He pulled his rondel dagger fast
and lunged forth in a breath... his last!
He fell scorched true by flaming blast.
His story, is one of the past...
Behold! Dear friends, the wretched story
of He, who lusted for great glory...
For arrogance 's greatest of sins
And Tyrios withdraws his wings!
'cause shallow faith, will stray the path
away from righteous, into dark!
