If the world should crumble down around you...follow me.
Scribbled on 16 September, 2006 at about 4:14 a.m.
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I found Lupa's father, unsurprisingly, among the dead of the Valley. In the time since his exile, he'd gotten by with the only skill he had. It shouldn't have surprised me that he'd been approached by agents of the Rose in the time before the battle was mounted. His skills shouldn't have been necessary. After all, the Root could restore the dead to life. It had been one of the miracles that had swayed so many to believe in his cause. The only explanation for even involving this man was that the Root had forseen his own defeat.
And by now, it was more than clear to me that it had come to pass.
It was because of this foresight that the necromancer had been allowed back into the town, left in the graveyard, to act as a final resort, should it appear the town was going to fall.
It was because of this planning that the fallen, the dead of the conflict had been brought to him, no corpse from either side left to be disposed of in a more proper or fitting manner.
And when the city began to fall, it was because of this that the ominous black clouds had begun to gather over the cemetary in what was already the darkest of our hours.
The Root and the Rose had promised us all security, and had even hinted at eternal life. But it is the eternally undying that will win the day.
The promise will be half kept. The city's defenses will soon be nearly impenetrable. But with so few of us left, I shudder to think of what there will be left to defend.




While the graphics are down, rather than give a Forward and Back text link, I'll just give you a link to the Older Entries page, which will get you from A to B until graphics are back.