Long has the hero suffered, endured endless screams and wails in his ears, the throbbing of his heart, stress of azure rot that stretched across his flesh. Long has he clutched the blade in a tired hand when truly he wished to let it clatter to the ground. After such misery and torture, he, worshipped by ice and black, rests upon his throne of relief, quiet and still, the sleep his body once craved never to be a want again.