Leave thy sword at the feet of the legend.
Tribute for passage we wreck your halls.
Rest o lord of mountain tomb.
Thy slain soul empowers the brave forever.
Red hands now empty.
Take thy sword unto heaven.
From this misty mountain delve.
Of Orc stink and foul blood.
Truth be, heroes never die.
Eris your foes, slain, lie.
To the hall of ancestors rise.
We chant this dirge unto the sky.
When our comrades would die in battle back in the war we would chant dirges to help carry the souls of the slain to the halls of their ancestors. Chanting a dirge for a single man was uncommon lest he have saved your life. Eris had been the whole reason our party was on this quest. The sword I carried through the wars has never left my side. Now it lays at the feet of Durgen. May it pay passage for Eris to escape the confines of the monastery, Durgen willing. These red hands shall never touch that weapon, small sacrifice but honor demands sacrifice, and Eris deserves that at least. Now disheartened and into the vent we shall wreck an aweful toll upon these wretched Orcs for their impudence. Drunk on bloodlust we shall be. Know Eris that the orc that cut you down did not suffer to live.