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--- relics:poet.mourning.collapse [2026/06/05 19:35] – [Hands: Poet's Gilded Bracelet] anadmin
+++ relics:poet.mourning.collapse [2026/06/05 19:42] (current) – [Feet: Poet's Silver-Studded Shoes] anadmin
@@ Line 44: / Line 44: @@
 {{ :relics:poet-body.png?200|}}
 > Dawn is the gentlest time of the day, her skirt is coincidentally also the colors of the last string of stars before dawn.
+//"When Aquila opens their eyes, all the stars are asleep. Only one squinting night star remains, being the most curious."//
+The narrative poem continues till the second cycle of day and night. More listeners gather around the poet, among them Kremnoans with quivers clinking with arrows, and those from Janusopolis who cast divining rods for godly advice. Since the black tide's encroachment across cities, countless historical records have been scattered, and the Grove's scholars have had little time to collect all the documents — many lesser cities did not even get the chance to leave their names behind.
+Only the wandering poet knows that the old city occupied by the evil dragon once possessed the esoteric method of alchemy: With flesh as the foundation, everything could be created, and miracles could be performed. The alchemists spoke as such to the king, heartbroken from the tragic loss of his beloved daughter.
+//"Lament for my homeland...\\
+The silver-tongued alchemist was confident he could resurrect the princess from the dragon's flesh.\\
+What is dead, yet undead. Another ten days pass.\\
+The ritual is finally complete, alas..."//
+The final nighttime star reluctantly closes its eyes, hankering to listen to the incomplete story of the children of humankind.
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 {{ :relics:poet-feet.png?200|}}
 > Woven shoes inlaid with silver studs, pressing worded patterns across the sand she treads. On her mission to gather all the poems of the past, she has never once ceased her footsteps.
+//"The people know not where to seek Thanatos' trail, and there are legends that say no living can cross the River of Souls. Where, then, does the river flow?"//
+"We have never heard of such a dragon, nor come across the existence of resurrection rituals in ancient tomes" — Some doubtful among the listeners voice out. The poet replies — She is not an offspring of the old cities, therefore not certain whether there was truly an evil dragon. This is merely what she heard from earlier bards, a poetic song imparted along generations only through words.
+If no one passed down the songs, the history of the old cities would be truly buried in dust, and all would fade with time — The flourishing city-state of the past, deluged and devoured by the River of Souls, becoming a place disdained by even wild hounds and circling vultures. This is the curse left behind by the souls eaten by the evil dragon.
+//"Lament for my homeland...\\
+O Princess! Who would have imagined she was alchemied into the evil dragon's visage.\\
+She devoured them all... the alchemist, the brave centurion, and the foolish king.\\
+A feast fueled by bloodlust invited the shadows of death, the old city therefore annihilated."//
+Remember the name of the decimated city! This is a story about Styxia, played by the poet wearing silver-studded soles. She collects stories for the stories themselves, just like the words left behind by the silver studs on her woven shoes — //"Remember the story. Forget me."//