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The Ballad of Jaylinn, Mistress of the Arena
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Upon the stone where champions stand,
Beneath the vaulted, watchful skies,
Jaylinn strides with spells in hand,
A teal-haired maiden with sharp, keen eyes.

Her voice is calm, yet fierce and clear,
With Ard Cradh's curse she strikes the soul,
Pramh's gentle sleep draws ever near,
And doubles wounds to claim control.

Mor Dion's shield, a fleeting grace,
Wraps her in invincible light,
While Nuadhaich heals her weary face,
Preparing for the next relentless fight.

The clash was ruthless in battle's breath,
Her allies fallen, one by one,
Alone she stood to cheat out death,
Though outnumbered, she'd not be undone.
With foes surrounding on every side,
She cast her spells with steady hand,
Deception of Life her silent guide,
To break their ranks and make her stand.

Three rounds, they clashed within the stone,
Two teams aligned by fate's own hand,
But Jaylinn stood, alone, alone,
The first to rise, the last to stand.
Her legend weaves through every hall,
From tavern's cheer to king's own throne,
Jaylinn the teal, who conquered all.
The maiden who claimed the arena's throne.