"Dying Light and Fleeting Hope."
A light is snuffed out and a bond eternally broken. And yet, the pack of fumbling hunters still clings desperately to hope like moths flitting toward the flame. His wife still filled with the fiery disposition of the rebel, refusing to accept her fate. Refusing to acknowledge she's been bested. Refusing to kneel before the obvious power on display before her. This, I shall never truly understand. What gives these people hope? What forces their hearts to keep beating, their souls to keep burning? What do they see? Can they not tell that it is all a terrible, disgusting lie? Are they not enraged to find out they are slaves to the greatest web of falsehoods ever woven?
I grow weary of the cold grey wind that I have come to know as my place of home. It is not a land for the mortal man, it was never a place meant to harbor even my hungry soul.
The noose closes in and I can feel the watchful eyes of a thousand wolves waiting for a sign of blood. Though I reach for the darkness that rests within the breast of these 'heroes', it is an unraveling that takes time. Time that is growing short.
There are fleeting moments in this symphony of shouted lies that I am fearful to admit - I have questioned my holy cause. The words of The Seeker haunt me in the few moments of fitful sleep that I find. This world, its masters, its purpose. Cyric knows every lie that is uttered, but his voice has long been a distant whisper of its own. Though I shout, though I act, though I desperately call out into the endless cold void that I see in my mind, answers are fleeting and hushed. Am I still upon his Holy path? Does the spear in my hand still strike at the enemies of the Dark Sun, or have I too been bastardized and dominated, serving some other pretender's will like the very dogs I seek to destroy? I look within myself, within my heart and my mind, for answers. But I see only the ever-obscuring mist.
This place. . . It sickens me. It has weakened my mind. It picks at my resolve. Each breath I draw in, a new wave of toxin. Each beat of my heart, another ticking of the clock. I demand it - speak to me. Make my eyes see through this world of haunting grey. Sharpen you blade that it may serve you true. And when the time comes, I will not be denied my rightful place of power for my services.
I will rise above this visage of a mortal man who taunts me in the reflected glass.
I will find them, all of them. I will reach into the darkness and I will grasp those who burn with desire, fear, and hate.
I will bring those before me who are marked with the curse of want.
And I will bind us all together, lest we be destroyed by those who foolishly harbor hope.
This I swear. On all that I have have done in this lost, forsaken place.