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{{Infobox Item3 |
{{Infobox Item3 |
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+ | |Tier = {{C Item}} |
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+ | |Type =Other |
+ | |Source =during [[Scenes From a Marriage]] |
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− | |source =[[The Painted World]] |
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+ | |Weight =0 |
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+ | |Value =1 |
+ | |Image = Tw3 book brown.png |
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− | }} |
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+ | |ID = q604_worn_book}} |
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− | '''The Spirit from the Steppe''' is a book in the {{HoS}} for {{Tw3}}. |
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+ | '''{{PAGENAME}}''' is a quest item in the {{HoS}}. |
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+ | After entering [[The Painted World]], this is found at the gazebo scene and is needed to watch the memory. |
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− | == Content == |
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+ | == Journal Entry == |
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− | ''Might man yet learn his neck to bend?<br>Ha! Behold how that noble race,<br>Doth year by year its birthright rend,<br>Its promised lands fast lay to waste.'' |
+ | :''Might man yet learn his neck to bend?<br>Ha! Behold how that noble race,<br>Doth year by year its birthright rend,<br>Its promised lands fast lay to waste.'' |
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* [[Scenes From a Marriage]] |
* [[Scenes From a Marriage]] |
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Revision as of 01:54, 23 March 2020
The Spirit from the Steppe is a quest item in the Hearts of Stone expansion.
After entering The Painted World, this is found at the gazebo scene and is needed to watch the memory.
Journal Entry
- Might man yet learn his neck to bend?
Ha! Behold how that noble race,
Doth year by year its birthright rend,
Its promised lands fast lay to waste. - Hearts grown cold, brothers brothers spurn,
The rich grow fat, while poor grow thin.
Some hoard bread, others can but yearn,
Then rise, en masse, to slay their kin! - Taste ye now my missive's fruits,
Feed on them, o heartless brutes!
This world you've bit with cruel-tipped fangs
Your dark crime's venom now through it seeps.
Above, gods' wrath in wild clouds hangs
A cleansing storm soon to unleash! - [...]
- Man – A Riddle Stuck in Sleep
- A grub, enwrapped in spittle,
Beneath the tumult of raging skies,
Waits and grows, little by little,
Till – at last! – a bright ray it spies,
Spreads new wings, and away it flies! - May this thought with man endure!
May we ever in heart recall
This merry creature, winged and pure,
And how it started, so strange, so small!
Whoever seeks from flesh a cure,
To skies above doth plead and call,
May in this soul our tale hope stir!