So The Story Goes

Forged in the mountains of dread baron Veru.
Those were fires that only knew how to spew.
Spit in the faces of any who tried to exploit their heat.
So severe they could turn a black slab to white sheet.
Yet discouraged by this Berl was not.
He climbed those jagged peaks time had forgot.
Coughing from thick ash in the air.
He knew this trek would offer no care.
It would shorten his life but still he endured.
Sthough when he reached the cauldron he was floored.
Natural anvil sat centre stage.
He got to work without any delays.
Having brought just the thing suitable for forging.
Diamondstone would make an item commanding.
So with hammer and tongs Berl set to work.
The air tore at his lungs while fires did spurt.
Yet he conquered both as he fought the stone.
Hours it took to turn the tattered shard to item.
And when he was done engravings were etched.
Sadly that is when the dread baron raised his five heads.

Weak and exhausted Berl could offer little resistance.
And was felled with a right quickness.
Yet Veru’s attempts to claim the ring…
Only resulted in him becoming a guardian.
With a curse bestowed he was given a role.
He would serve always a rightful soul.
However, eons passed and this became forgotten.
Until young Sera ventured to this place labelled rotten.
Claiming the ring Veru was freed.
Yet he could not crush this youth he viewed as so lovely.
Rather he bowed to pledge his fealty.
Realising he encouraged Sera to take what was fated to be.
Accepting, she slipped ring onto her digit three.
Mountains roared, prophecy fulfilled.
Sera, descendant of Berl, new empress of Irindi.