Poetry by Rowan Evans

In the wastelands where the crimson sun bleeds,
Four souls converge on the blood-soaked sands, 
Vault Hunters forged in chaos and need, 
Seeking fortune in forsaken lands.

First comes the Reaper, a shadow of death,
Eyes cold as the moons that circle in gloom, 
Wielding Dahl tech with a ghostly breath, 
He harvests souls, a silent doom. 
Pandora’s whispers guide his hand, 
From Skag Gully to the Arid Badlands, 
No mercy left in his fractured mind, 
A broken heart, vengeance blind.

Then the Siren, marked by fate, 
With Eridian tattoos that pulse with might, 
Her power surges, a twisted gate, 
Through which she bends the very light. 
Atlas, Maliwan—she wields them all, 
Guns ablaze, her enemies fall, 
But in her mind, a battle rages, 
A dance with demons, endless stages.

The Outlaw, sharp as a Jakobs blade,
Once a hero, now renegade, 
His smile cruel, his morals fade, 
In Hyperion’s grip, his soul decayed. 
From Sanctuary to Lynchwood’s dust, 
He hunts the wicked with reckless trust, 
Yet in his heart, a festering doubt, 
Of who he was, and who’s left out.

Last, the Nomad, born of the wastes,
A child of Pandora, no past to claim, 
He moves unseen, a ghost of haste, 
With Tediore guns that never miss aim. 
He knows the Vault is a myth, a dream, 
But still, he hunts, driven by the gleam, 
Of riches promised, of power untold, 
In this world where the young grow old.

Across the Borderlands, they carve their path,
Through Caustic Caverns and the Highlands wide, 
Each step a dance with fate’s cruel wrath, 
Each breath a gamble where heroes died. 
Torgue’s explosions, Moxxi’s charms, 
They fight on with bloodied arms, 
Through Thousand Cuts and Opportunity’s lies, 
In search of truths beneath the skies.

But Pandora’s secrets twist and wind,
In the bones of gods, in vaults confined, 
They seek the heart of all this strife, 
In the death of worlds, in the birth of life. 
For beyond the stars, in void’s embrace, 
Lies the truth of this savage place— 
That every soul who seeks the prize, 
Must face the darkness, and realize:

The Vault is not just a door to greed,
But a mirror of the soul’s deepest need, 
And in the end, as shadows blend, 
It’s the choices made that will transcend. 
For on Pandora, where madness thrives, 
Only the damned, the broken, survives.