WheelofTime.org: Journal Of An Old Man

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Journal Of An Old Man

As I write this, the streets run red with the fresh blood of the innocent and guilty - the civilian and soldier - alike. Heated combat rages unabated throughout the streets and sky. Buildings persistently blaze on in a seemingly eternal fire, threatening to consume all that remains of our frail humanity. Even Paaran Disen, formerly the crown jewel of the known world and a peak of architectural achievement unlike any other, has been torn apart violently by the ravages of warfare. It’s spiraling towers, once rising up so majestically among the fluffy purity of the clouded skyline, have come crashing down in horrific ruin, raining down ashy debris upon all those who have chosen to stay and fight bravely for their city. Fight, I could almost laugh in scorn at the very thought.

I have recently come to the embittered realization that I am a broken man. All that I have continued to live for, all that I have ever loved, has either fallen into a heinous decadence or been completely and utterly destroyed. No one knows of my pessimistic resentment. Nay, rather they continue their silent, yet adamant, praise for me and my steadfast deeds and efforts. “How is it that he has kept a hold on his sanity throughout all of this?” they ask in curious amazement. How indeed?

I no longer worry about those particulars. All of that theological reasoning and drivel has been thrown out the window like so much worthless garbage as far as I am concerned. Whether or not the specific moment my deep anguish truly began can be pinpointed, I am by now well into the descent. At this point, I have but one thing left to live for - revenge. I have heard it said all my long life that revenge is bittersweet, and I find that I no longer care.

The final battle approaches rapidly; everything is being prepared. What vestiges of the Servants remain gather nervously at the crumbling remnants of the Hall, and we ready ourselves for a strike at the heart - the root - the core - of all darkness. Whether in victory or defeat, the war ends now. There will be no more retreat, no more self-extraction or cowardice. Our fear is to be replaced with insane bloodlust. We shall slay; we shall butcher. We shall give no mercy; we shall grant no quarter. We shall live for the joyous slaughter, and the sky will burn crimson in our fury.
~Jonas Hadrin Alexander