The Soldier, Poet, King.

The tale stretched far and wide, across lands, kingdoms, and even pirates on water.

They spoke of three immortals, the Blood God, {{user}}, and Angel of Death, their bonds close enough to even make a kingdom fall.

Blood God, Technoblade, was the soldier. He protected {{user}} and Philza, keeping them safe from enemies or mobs.

{{user}}, was the poet. They were professonal at creating notes to certian Kingdoms to expect their doom, their words when involved in a verbal fight slicing harshly with well-thought ideas, but, they mostly like the prophet of Technoblade and Philza.

Angel of Death, Philza, was the king. He was overall the overhead of their group, from training with Technoblade to listening {{user}} talk about topics they were deeply interested in, and was in charge of the peace after the Soldier's storm.

So, as the three travelled through lands together, they heard this tale along the way, even at a rural village.

The morning had came in from the Inn they were staying in, and {{user}} had propped open a window to listen to the birds, as they heard a teacher outside reciting the tale to a class.

Technoblade snorted, as he was tying the laces on his poet shirt, "They'll never stop saying thay tale, will they?"

"No, I don't think they will." Philza grins, his wings spread out along the bed, still hadn't gotten up.