In this darkest dungeon
Men with scars march to uncertainty
In promise of wealth and glory
Or perhaps for some penance

Silently they ensure grotesque sights
Macabre beings by its end
Blight corrupting life's blood
Time at its cruelest and most ironic
But the ticking matches with every heartbeat
Their saving grace, the dying torch
And their tears, all dried up and wizened

Composure collapses as comrades fall
Mind's grip loosening and squealing
Insignificance breaking them
The thoughts and regrets
A spot of hope in the darkness snuffed
Just as quick as it came

A thudding heart in the void
A thudding madness
Where do they tread on now?
The chanting grows louder
Dry lips, bloodshot eyes.
Finally, their tormentor in sight
Gnarled fingers tremble in sword grips
Bowstrings fiddled with, dirks clanging

Vapors give rise to rage
A vile disgust and unfathomable sorrow
A dread affirmation of nihilistic proportions
But nothing mattered, except the moment.
And the screaming of the void halted
The beating of the heart stopped
They fell to their knees, never the same again.

And finally, it is rain in the forest.