Dewdrops on face
The river disappears into an endless sea of grey
The Gilded Necromancer beckons the adventurer to proceed
A pale blue dot on the horizon
Dread of abyss envelops the senses as the dot grows ever brighter
An orb in a sea of endless black,
Do you wish to continue?
Stepping forward, the body is suddenly weightless
Touching the blue orb creates the landmass, not a new one, but your own
The game is one of gods
Infinite chances to redo the timeline
What do you change,
and what changes you?
The adventurer comes out alive, but fundamentally broken.
He understands now why the Gilded Necromancer behaves this way.
The future of our world depends on carefully orchestrated guiding of the timeline.
Allowing one chess piece to die before it has served its purpose
Would ruin the entire game.
"Whatever will be, will be," replies the rogue, unmoved by the pleading of the hero.
"Moving towards a better future requires sacrifice," replies the healer. The finality of death, all too often, served as the catalyst for life.
"Even if you know the outcome, you can never run from it forever," replies the mathmetician.
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