Loot is gonna take this crown, but not touch it. he's not dumb, he's gonna sell that thing

"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 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 compulsion make you uneasy, or do you give into the crown’s pull?"

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"One word is on the lips of every spirit, two-legged or Courser, man or elf: Galatea. Galatea. Galatea. The Harvester is silent if queried on the matter. What do you make of this?"

Submitted By Princejackdaw
Submitted: 1 month ago ・ Last Updated: 1 month ago