“The king of woe and whim, who held firm his grip upon the land with nary a sign of release, r

“The king of woe and whim, who held firm his grip upon the land with nary a sign of release, rests atop his throne of sand awaiting some accursed oblivion. He huddles away in sickness and fear, shadowed by his soulless knights in iron shells, propped up by some twisted inhibition to bend to his will. And in this grand ordeal, we feeble Orsanites must suffer for his deluded weariness, slowly watching us all wither with the desert battering against our doorstep. I’ve foregone all that I once was, a missionary on the path to adversity; all that I had was taken and more by those that could no longer earn for themselves, forced into actions of desperation. Now, there is only one last thing I can hope to grant them, that will break this arch of perpetuity. Their freedom.” Memoirs of Ryal, ascending minister of House Seardin -- source link

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