Where do I begin? Uncle Firsar, I have received communicae from my parents regarding their desire to leave Middle Err…Palladium. The time has come for the Elders to recede and for the Youngers to assume the mantle of Guardianship. We are, I and my fellow Avatars of the Gods, the Wardens of Palladia. They intend to leave after the Lopanic Iron Lung-Fucking Festivities and you, dear Firsar, will be my last living relative. Or should I say…next of kin.
Imagine, for a moment, that you are more than the merest sum of your implacable parts. There you sit, upon a wall. There you are, you have a great fall. All the CrIsis and all the legion’s men can’t put you together again. A couplet in poetic verse with the nursery rhyme schemes of a Mother Goose? Would that this mother Hen had suffered amnesia again!
Uncle Firsar, pray tell me, what is a hand without a finger? What is a husband without a wife? What is the Light without the Dark? One’s very existence defines the other. This same tired cycle of definition is a flat circle. It spins endlessly into the void of timelessness. We are the Ascendant Meat and however illusory our identities are, we craft those identities by making value judgments. Everybody judges all the time. If you have a problem with that then you’re living wrong. Should I wonder, Uncle, whether my time fighting the Darkness has caused me to slip into shadow. Should I question myself? Do you ever wonder if you are a bad man? I don’t wonder. The world needs bad men. We keep the other bad men at bay.
So, we were still fighting mumblies. Otto the FLAMING FIREFOX chewed the bandaged-wrapped ‘nads offa organless homeboy o’er there. Twenty! Naturally…
We fought some more skeletons and necromancers and a few goblins. Hell! I can’t even keep track anymore. I’ve grown so accustomed to taking lives that the thought of subduing minor menaces almost seems alien…foreign, as if some helter-skelter mind-melter is guiding my hand into submission and guiding my thoughts into a tornado of souls and a solipsistic vision of vivisection and evisceration. I think…therefore.
Asher created a circle of concealment that allowed us to rest / recuperate. We fought more shit.
Indaris prays a Greater Prayer that only gets granted once in every 7 years. Good to be king. They tell me he was able to exert such control over magic that he single-handedly turned the tide of the battle and won us the Hand. We finally face the Tezcat Necro and Overkill charged into the darkness!!! He died again but not before going GINSU and killing lots of…well, something.
When the Hand was finally used on us like the giant invisible crushing battering ram of fate…it didn’t really live up to our expectations. Meh! So much for that!
I do not fear a world without my parents nor shall I fear a world without Defilers…a world without the Legion of Mistmoore…a world without CrIsis. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is not real. The only place that fear can exist is in our thoughts — thoughts of the future. Fear is a product of our imagination. We fear the unknown — from death to pain to love and everything in between. We fear the Darkness winning. Do not misunderstand me: Danger is very real but fear is a choice.
Look, Uncle, gaze upward and into the Celestial constellations, the heavenly bodies of the Zodiac. Do you see the stars? Once, there was only Darkness. If you ask me, the Light is winning.
Written by Tyvernos on…an unknown date, in the 70th year of the Wolfen Empire.