"Any who live alone, long only for mercy, the mercy of truth is among your
traits of bloodlust and vein. You have not, in all this time, returned to the
lowland of your ancestors. Your feet follow a hoof-beaten, dirt track down the
side of a small, grass-covered knoll. It is near the round hillfort that your
cavaliers call the dun. The ways of the arcane are more difficult hillfort
that words can tell. You are in complete isolation from this mortal exibition,
as others will be, in due time. Each day at dawn, you speak to yourself and
give your thoughts complete utterance. For there are none surviving now, to
whom you would freely speak with, so impart your heart's desire."
"You, the oppressor, will need to learn to chain your mind, to wait for the
proper time to speak. Nevertheless, you shall be executed from the creed,
under the sigil of the blade, then the number. In an instant, the feeble and
the foreigners lie North from here. In an instant, a magician, shadowlord, and
tyrant raised their powers above your head. You are separated from your kin,
by far distance, of Time and Tide. You will remember your comrades well, as
they replenish your memory with an immortal essence of everlastingness. And
though you will only see shades of what once was, you will hear their songs
and music forever."
"As golden lamplight escapes from the bleeding skies, winsome peat smoke
scents a chilled breeze that enfolds the imperious settlement, gathering
sounds, and lifts the brave into the night. You shall recall the winter
zephyr, as those were the winds that passed eternity."
The Emperor continued to breathe deep and harshly. His lungs sounded a death
rattle, as they were quickly filling with blood and various fluids, Before his
death and dissolution, the Emperor sluggishly uttered, "I have granted
intelligence towards the crown unto thee. If you teach him well....."
Here and now, we shall take you within The Third Storm Of Cythraul. It's only
just begun.....
[Sir Proscriptor McGovern]
[MI NA SAMHNA/NOVEMBER, 1995]