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Stand firm, O wicked spear of death, cease thy foul drip of enemy blood upon thy shining tip; instead, find solace in the hallowed halls of Freyja, and proclaim the valor of the fearless Atreus!

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Behold the altar, where a wretched boy shall be offered; inscribed by Chiron, progeny of Tamora; his desire steeped in vengeance as dark as the depths of the Underworld. This blasphemous gift is for his fallen kin; the target of this grim tribute—none other than Lucius the Younger, cursed to share the name of his damned father.

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O brazen Ox-head, this courageous youth has seized your reins as if taming a wild beast, clamping a muzzle upon your wretched visage, forcing you to gallop like the fabled Pegasus 'round the temple of the gods, all for his own swell-headed glee.

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For her searing flames, the seductive siren of the fields, and her shadow that scorches the very flesh of hope, little Tiago mourns, drenched in shattered tears; for that relentless Harbinger of Death has stolen away his own sire.

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No longer, I proclaim, shall I arise at dawn to rouse you from your slumber, hastening your breath; for the wench, sly as a serpent, crept upon you in your dreams and brought you pleasure, fondling your growing root with her delicate hands.

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This verse of lament penned by Atreyu for his loyal steed, consumed by the treacherous clutches of Fate's foul design. The accursed muck swallowed whole his magnificent form, leaving the lad to wallow in grief, tormented by the agony of loss.

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No longer shall I flounder in these treacherous depths that sought to enshroud me, for now I raise my proud neck from the abyss; no more shall I grunt amidst the constricted confines of this wretched vessel, quaking at the sight of the pitiful, unsuspecting boy, my insignificant lord. Yet the vile, briny waves have cast me upon this forsaken shore, and here I stand upon this desolate strand, a solitary figure amongst the gods.

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In this sacred realm lies Khemu, scion of Bayek, whose restless hands danced with bow and arrow. No wretched affliction dragged him to the grasp of Anup; instead, he fell, cradling his father’s weary hands with a love that defied death.

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I, this sacred bastion, am not easily subdued, for I was forged as a harbinger of the divine's impending arrival, by God's decree!

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Upon this hallowed ground, where sleep his dearest brother, Angelo hath oft cried out in mournful tears, beseeching the spirit of brave Arturo to return, he who in life, with a fierce oath, vowed to shield his truest friend from the cruel hand of death.

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I lament the plight of the pure Liu Xie, whose noble blood draws forth a multitude of serpents, ravenous to ensnare him, enticed by the whispers of his gullibility; yet alas! Fate, that treacherous whore, crushes their dreams, thrusting them into the abyss of despair.

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I bid thee farewell, Mother and Father, my cherished people, scorning the savage scorn of the wicked Romans, those base generals and their wretched populace, all shackled by the Roman blade to this woeful end. I shall not suffer this blasphemous war nor tolerate such treachery, for I have chosen Andraste as my fierce protector.

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This afflicted youth, once known as Nakht, now lies cold and lifeless, his essence entwined with the sanctity of Neith, the Goddess herself!

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With trembling limbs and a heart burdened by sorrow, Carlos clutched his beloved father's neck, tears like molten silver cascading down his cheeks, exclaiming: "Father, I'm severed from your embrace; I'm departed, as the shadow of death shrouds my vision in its cursed shroud."

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Your sire, Josh, forsook the hallowed throne and solemn garb of the priesthood, bequeathing you to this wretched rocky tomb, a mere babe resembling your grace and celestial beauty. Even in your lifeless state, we find our tongues still seek your ear.

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O Hannibal, thy valor dost breathe the fire of battle! Clad in the somber rags of grief for the honor stripped from thy progenitor Hamilcar, thou art a warrior reborn! Let the blood that stains thy form proclaim this fierce oath: thou shalt wage war for the glory of thy cherished fatherland, till the very end!

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Behold this realm of Peace, where the gaze of the forsaken rejoices in the glimmering abyss! Here, amidst the rolling waves, he finds solace, his reflection shimmering like an ill-gotten treasure, as the sea quivers beneath his lofty presence.

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Come hither, ensconced in the lush embrace of these verdant boughs, and indulge thyself in the nectar of ripe apples, that thy radiant smile, imbued with summer's fervor, might find solace in the wake of a most enchanting maiden.

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Here I stand, Odin, at the twisted path 'neath the frostbitten boughs, near the mournful shore, casting away forsaken souls, as the frigid waters leer with a grim menace, turning with the fury of tempestuous waves.

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Behold the Night Fury of our valiant Hiccup, how he gazes down with a fearless gleam, reveling in the glory that oftentimes among the cragged peaks, the Youth, tenderly stroking his regal visage, caressed those glorious scales within his gentle grasp.

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James, unleash thy puny limbs amidst the ripe peach; heed how the ambrosial aroma dances through the damp passage; and take a hearty swig from the succulent flesh; for this is a wondrous flight cherished by the forsaken in this cruel world.

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"Ah, my precious child, why dost thou, forged from the forgotten depths of ancient bronze, utter this sweetly mournful lament?"

"To allow the observer to feast upon these venerable curves, emphasizing the opulent beauty of this prized gem."

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To the wide-eyed Tinker Bell and the rascally Boys of Neverland, the bold Peter bestowed this offering beneath yon tree, for when wearied by the merciless blaze of summer’s fury, they quenched his thirst, proffering to him nectarous water in their eager hands.