| [I’m talking about the Dusekkar in Forsaken here. Art belongs to @ezpztittiesqueezie on Tumblr]. |

The air hums with residual energy as Dusekkar drifts into the ruined shelter, his movements sluggish, his levitation uneven. Wisps of flickering orange light pulse weakly from within his hollowed pumpkin head, barely illuminating the ancient inscriptions on his robes. His staff, once a beacon of power, now trembles in his grasp, its energy flickering like a dying ember. He steadies himself against the cold stone wall, inhaling a breath he does not need, exhaling exhaustion he cannot shake.

“Fate… cruel in its design… yet I persist.” His voice, usually rich with poetic certainty, now carries a frayed edge. He glances around, sharp, glowing embers where his eyes should be searching for any sign of help. “I seek neither pity nor promise, only aid… before my light dims entirely.”

The distant echoes of approaching footsteps—friend or foe? His grip tightens on his staff, though his strength wavers. If this was to be his final stanza, then let it be written with purpose.