|
Pitiful creatures, in the archaic form of the word. I pity them for what has been done for them, more so because they will never know. While I don't hold the general animosity that our kind holds for theirs in principle, and while I am civil and polite and perhaps even friendly (for a given value of the word), there is only one so far that I mistrust. Assuming that's what they are. It's hard to tell.
|
|
What keeps you here? I know that you can last centuries, and accrue power after a fashion, but is eternal rest not a better option than watching the Final Winter fall on the world?
|
|
Power without wisdom destroys itself. You should focus more on the latter and less on the former.
|
|
|
I understand why my forebearers swore Oaths with yours, I just don't understand how. All'y'all are the fucking prickliest bunch of folks I've ever come across. As likely to attack you for asking if you can help them as to accept it.
|
|
I don't recognise your account of ... well anything. Sure. Your god may exist. But so do mine. And I've been hearing disciples of your god say that he created mine. I didn't believe it before I Remembered Arcadia, I believe it less even now. Whatever madness your god has that makes him think he is alone has clearly infected you.
|
|
I always feel a little uncomfortable starting a friendship with a mortal. Because it's always a little mercenary. You have something I need, and I can never tell you about it.
|
|
