As the wanderer slings on his pack,
Leaving his homeland behind his back,
The world still turns and does grow strong,
Described in flourish by the bards' songs.

The mage in his study tires of books,
Lines and creases, haggard are his looks,
He longs for the road he traveled once more,
So he gathers his things, stepping for the door.

The knight, he serves his lord fervently,
Blind to the lord's evil that he cannot see.
When friend and ally do reveal the light,
In panic he flees, armor rattling in the night.

The sentinel guards the way with his life,
Protecting his home from warfare and strife.
But when the great warrior is finally slain,
His soul is set free to roam again.

The darkness spreads, scourging the lands,
Hellfire spreading, cast by unseen hands.
The demon is finally purged by the light,
So he returns to the underworld, hasty in his flight.

The balance is restored and the traveler turns home,
To write all he discovered in his one great tome.
For all the years, it does seem but a second,
Till he grabs his gear once more, onwards, towards lands unreckoned.

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Variach, in the year 143 MA.