Before you lies a black dagger,
A relic of power untold,
All you must do is end your own,
And thus your new life unfolds.

Shall you become a great Horkval,
with insectoid, armour-like hide?
Or shall you grow into a Troll,
And take blasts of magic in stride.

Shall you become an Atavian,
With wings to be unfurled and preened?
Or perhaps a mighty Rajamala,
With bright fur and claws to be cleaned.

For the ladies, the seductive Siren,
Whose call lures all who hear,
For the men, the rambunctious Satyr,
Causing headaches for all who are near.

Or are you a man of the mountains?
A stout Dwarf, your halls lined with gold.
Or a Tsol'aa ever so graceful,
Your true home, the forests of old?

Or do you have gills and breathe water?
A smart, amphibious Grook.
Or perhaps you're an alien Xoran,
And you bellow red fire to cook.

Shall you be mundane and Human,
The product of Chaos and rape?
Or perhaps their distant, lithe cousins,
And a Mhun's appearance you'll take.

Tis up to you, my dear friend.
Before you lies a future immense.
So plunge the dagger into your heart,
And, please friend, end the suspense.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Glacian, in the year 638 AF.