"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-
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