Response to the Prophecy

Time erases many things.

Shadow was founded by we, Purity, who one-by-one have absconded from this

world.  All, it would seem, but me.  The prophesy, just one piece of the

legend and lore of this place, has been lost to time.  As has the history

surrounding it.

But in these times, this lore must be raised from the dead.  It is needed,

and it cannot wait.

I herein provide witness.  May it restrain the splintering of the dark

forces.  For if it does not, I believe that only then will our Lord die,

body and will.  And with it, our reason for existence.

We were few, in those days, and did not initially know each other.  Coming

from all walks and ways, we felt drawn to the order of Eclipse.  The only

tell was our bloody coughing, which at the time we attributed to an outbreak

of the wasting disease.  For that reason, many of us thought our days were

few.

Shay was a charismatic man.  Easy to follow.  It is impossible to know for

sure, but it is likely that I could have followed a man like that, even if

the seed did not will it.  Ishamael was a man of few words, with a penchant

for cruelty.  Malcolm did not much talk, was distant and distracted.

Lanival was loud, and more than made up for Malcolm's quiet.  Prospal, or as

he was more befittingly known, the Ghost, was a man of some obvious noble

heritage which he never openly discussed.  And there was also Sorcia,

pleasant but not without her own dark side.

And so it goes.  Many of you may know these people as lines in a book, but

they were living and uncertain in their day, just as you are in yours.  Like

them, your decisions will become history and become the foundation of future

events.

We converged in Eclipse, came to know each other and the others.  The ones

who were not like us, the Highlord Vokkyn, his Keeper Martyr.  The druids,

Halisthanis, Nir, and Ericka.  People we split bread with by day, spilled

blood with by night.  It could have been a life worth living.

But the Lord had another mission for us.  Something dark and vicious, where

no comrades but us could follow.  Something changed one day, with the

intensity of a thousand grudges.  We had to burn our friendships and

alliances, by a feeling in our chests as fierce as if branded by hot iron.

Death had not come to us, but something else.  An awakening.  Things went

quickly after that.

We drew blades on the people with whom, just the last night, we had shared

mead and bread.  The Highlord we slew immediately, his blood staining the

keep.  One by one, we pulled the others from nook and hole, and put them to

the blade.  They all had the same choice: submit their bodies to the will of

our Lord, or die and be cast from the hall.

Some resisted, others were resigned to their fate.  Some few embraced the

Lord's will and stayed as slaves.  Within a single night, one of the great

keeps of Algoron was entirely sacked, forging ahead with a new mission.

As Highlord Vokkyn's blood drained onto the stonework, and after Martyr

had fled and was never seen again, Malcolm fell to his back with a jolt.  We

thought he might have been wounded in the melee, but no scratch was upon

him.  His eyes rolled to the back of his head, his voice took on a deep and

ominous note.  He uttered the prophesy.  Then he pierced his own heart and

spilled all of his blood in service to it.

It explained the past, the present, and future.  We had descended from the

knights of Gareth, gifted with the heavy burden of our Lord's Will.  We were

fodder, sacrifices, meant to bring on a dark dawn of perfection and unity.

Power was never the goal, but rather an instrument to achieve this end.  And

the only power that could suffice was a new keep, with a new force,

organized enough to put everyone to the choice: submit or die.  Disciplined

enough to abide by and honor those words.  A force strong enough to guide

the weak of will, weak of mind, powerful but weak of conscience, under a

single unifying force that could blast the world to a sandy nothingness and

rebuild it in the image of this perfect vision.

That was the meaning of the prophesy.  It was an exaltation of all things of

beauty, splendor, and wonder that this world can bear.  Perfection, order,

linearity, and will served as the boundaries and contours that would allow

the weak to live properly, manage corruption, shepherd those who do not know

better.  Extract service from those too servile to be used for any other

purpose, rebuke those (such as the light) who would put their own egos above

perfection, blast short-sightedness, burn personal feelings and emotion that

can lead the world astray.  The prophesy ushered a future of dignity,

purpose, belonging, being, a place for all things, and law and order.

Without these things, the light flourishes and the dark feasts upon itself.

The light asserts itself as the champion of the victims, seeking more

problems to use to install themselves as egotistical, corrupt masters

ultimately serving only themselves.  The dark, meanwhile, eats its own tail

and dies of infighting.

Order is the natural champion of the dark.  The Light only corrupts it,

profits from it, bends it for their own selfish purposes.

The only way to preserve the perfection of Order is to be truly selfless.

Die in all but body, be reborn an agent of the Lord, want nothing but his

Will as expressed in the prophesy.

Have no expectation of rights.  No right to see the dark dawn.  No right to

see the conclusion of the prophesy.  We may only be as worms, offering our

bodies as a blood sacrifice to its eventual coming.

Be what will make it happen.  Burn personal feelings.  Burn even feelings of

betrayal.  Burn even honor when it has no merit, feeling when it has no

merit, comraderie when it has no merit.  Be a tool to the Lord's will, and

use all others as a tool of the Lord's will by force, charm, or cunning.

Bend who will bend, break those who will not, but make all bow in service to

bringing the dark dawn.

The prophesy is not born from hope.  That is a quality of the weak.

The prophesy, like many of the Lord's gifts, is born from blood sacrifice

and death.

Despair has no place in our heritage.  It is indulgent, and presumes that we

have a right to it.  We have no right to personal feelings.  The prophesy

was born of Malcolm's life blood shaped by the Will of our Lord.  Our Lord's

will is now inherited unto us from his own sacred life's blood.  Because our

power comes from blood sacrifice, the profound sacrifice of our Lord makes

his will stronger, not weaker.  It was the final act, and the rain of his

unholy blood ushers the prophesy in upon this land.

He has installed his Will into us before he died, and so we are his

phylactery.  We make him immortal, so long as we remain and follow the

vision.

Should we falter on either count, the Lord dies.  The surest way to do so is

to let the darkness fall to infighting, inviting the Light to conquer it

all.  Only we may prevent this outcome.  It is time to sacrifice of

ourselves.

I believe that we must do the following:

1.  Rebuild the Lord's body, by restoring Order to the dark pantheon.

1a.  Burn our feelings and pursue no war with the dark pantheon.  We have no

right to feelings, and if we turn to in-fighting our Lord's Will shall

surely die.

1b.  Restore Order to the dark pantheon.  There is no avatar for Order in it

now, and that is why it is threatened to collapse under in-fighting.  We

must seek out and corrupt another god.  And Nadrik is a natural choice.  He

is already weakened.

We must entreat Devion, Nadrik's natural enemy, to protect us and grant us

favor as we carry on the Lord's will and deliver Nadrik on a platter to

Devion besides.  In return, we will corrupt Nadrik's name on this mortal

plane, while he can assail Nadrik from the godly one.

From that moment, we fashion a dark and unholy symbol to Nadrik, and put

every blood sacrifice upon it.  We attribute every kill to the unholy dark

god Nadrik, all suffering we inflict, all pain that gathers, all dark

thoughts and malevalent deeds done in honor on the name of our dark unholy

Nadrik.  We do these deeds in Honor, and Light has no right or monopoly to

it.  Honor is Order and Power, it is not greed, ego, and self-service, which

are all properties and foundation of the light.  The light has no legitimate

claim to it.  Only the dark can properly house it.

Under Devion's protection, Nadrik will be powerless to stop us by shun or

assault.  We will strike at Nadrik while he is weak, and where he is

weakest.  Because Honor cannot truly be good.  It is corruptable, and its

purest intentions are dark.

2.  Bolstered by a whole dark pantheon, having rebuilt a body for Lord

Necrucifer in the corrupted shell of Nadrik, we put the Light to the

question: submit or die.  We shackle the bodies of every race, and take them

into the Lord's service.  Those who think freely, we put to the blade.

Those who do not submit, we put to the fire.  All obstacles to the Lord's

Will are cleared until we reach the dark dawn.