I have graced table with Isis, Queen of Queens. What more can a humble ranger hope to experience? Battles fought, Dragon coins amassed, arrows of mighty magic flung so deep into an enemy’s eye that he cracks open and explodes, his very flesh vaporised. These memories are but passing leaves in a stream whose waters run eternally away.
Memories fade from the Land of the Damned. The Glaive of the Old Ones is now vanquished to deepest memory, the Tezcat Necromancer just an empty phrase. For I have graced table with Isis, Lady of All Elements, Jewel of the Wind.
Great are the names of those I have trod with – Rod the Rambler, Hobe Bygone, Sister Gaia – friends evermore and yet still lesser now; for I have graced table with Isis, Queen of Rivers, Queen of The Earth.
No noble death shall equal such a thing, no resurrection, no ascension shall touch my heart so much. For her will is mine and mine is hers to bend – till the remaking of Osiris, I treasure this memory until the very end. That I have graced table with Isis, and sat at her table with friends.