There are Those who demand your adoration.
There are Those who demand your sacrifice.
There are Those who demand your mind.

Without purpose. Without meaning. They scurry, afraid. Afraid of the Unknown, but, worse yet still, afraid of the Known.

They cower in the face of sleeping giants across the sea.

They fear Names.
They fear Ghosts.
They, most of all, fear the truth.

They draw succor from delusions.
They cadge from you that which is most precious, demand of you your mind, your body, your very soul.

And for what?
For what?
What for?

To satisfy vanity.

Flimsy.
Transient.
Ephemeral.

Useless.

There is Something more.

Something Inerasable.
Something Ineffaceable.
Something Indelible.

Brace steel against skin. Boil your blood.

Reckoning is coming.

Penned by my hand on Tisday, the 25th of Lleian, in the year 501 MA.