Ah, the Knucklebones. These aren't merely playthings, aspirant. Each one is a weighty fragment, imbued with the very essence of chance, yet etched with the sacred sigils of our fate. Feel their solidness in your palm; they bear the marks of countless throws, of triumphs and humbling defeats. Look closely at the faces, for they tell a story, or perhaps, lay out your destiny. There's the stark cross, a reminder of sacrifice, of what must be given. You'll find the circular marks, sometimes singular, sometimes clustered, representing bounty, or perhaps the chains that bind us. But keep a keen eye for the true omen – that grim, stylized skull, a potent symbol of power and finality, a whisper from the One Who Waits. These are the tools of our humble game, a smaller reflection of the greater struggles we face. They determine who triumphs, who offers, and who... well, who finds themselves wanting in the grand tally. Pick them up, feel their weight, and know that with each cast, you lay bare a piece of your soul for the Lamb.