There are some who mistake friction for its purpose,
who see only the clash and not the forging,
who spill without meaning.
This is not what answers your call.

We come from the crucible wherein legend is wrought,
revering the friction that sets memory alight,
and the heat that transforms mere moment into myth.

Upon the hilltop where Greensong first drew its breath,
a banner shall be raised, and beneath it Her Champion stands.

Each who steps forward shall meet a different aspect of the fray.
What form strife takes, what blade is drawn, what stance assumed..
No bout shall mirror another.

Should the banner prevail, the fallen shall whisper a secret:
one truth, held sacred, preserved upon honor alone.
It will not be written, nor sung, nor remembered
save by the one who earned them in victory.

Should a challenger prevail, they shall claim what they will
by the banner: a deed, a vow, a name, a dream,
and it shall be provided the pen of legend.

Win or fall, all who answer will be remembered,
on the 7th of Lleian, when Sheine howls.




Penned by my hand on Closday, the 15th of Chakros, in the year 14 AC.