"Under layers of rock, its burial seemingly intentional, you find a chest lined with satin. Inside is a crown, glittering gold. Deep inside, you feel compelled to bend down and and slip it over your ears. You feel as if it *wanted* you to find it, that this crown was made for you, and that you were destined to wear it. Does this compulsoon make you uneasy, or do you give into the crown's pull?"

Derelict: "Looks like it was made for a king, better wear it like one! Looks like it's not coming off, oh well."