Gathe'round and I'll tell you a story. Story 'bout a place where you can trade your blood for…read moregoods, for food, drink, an' ennertainment. A place they wait on you hand and foot, while you repose, contemplatin the good you done, the lives you've changed, all through the power of a clenched fist and a beatin heart.
Though the locals have ancient name for it, claim it's the source of life for all their land, most of us just say Viva Vitalant. That means "to live," and that's what you'll do there. I surmise it's what you'll help others do, as well, if you do have a heart in ya.
Y'see, when you ride into Vitalant, you stand judgement and answer fer your past deeds, fess up to where you been and what you done. If those of the Phleblo deem you worthy, and accept you into their lands, the gifts are shared. Yours, then theirs. Though you give of yourself, you do so with a mite's hair of discomfort, and the people see to your needs.
yes, it's a righteous act to ride to Vitalant. It's righteouser still to return. And though you may not load your saddlebags, you will leave rewarded. And you won't weigh down your pony neither, no. No, you'll feel lifted, lighter, lighter than ever. Just, pray, not light in the head. Y'holler if that happens, y'hear?
And there's something else I oughtn't leave out 'bout this story... It's all true. And it could happen to you, just as it did ME!
*rolls back sleeves showing mite-sized scars on the inside of each elbow!*
That's right... Platelets... Both arms...
They got me good. And I keep. Going. Back.