My tombstones are all erected. My names -my lies- all carved in stone; scattered across the hills, raised amidst the woods, buried among the sands --as hexes that plague the very soil I have trod. None of them shall receive me. None of them shall remain. None of them shall be remembered. This is my legacy.
Yet planted them I have nonetheless, with utter care and devotion. A trail of cenotaphs to denote my sinful path; one for each life I stole. One for every tragedy my hands in blood have written. One for sorrow. One for mercy. One for redemption.
At sea it began, and for a while, I hoped beneath its crashing waves to find the end. It outsailed me. I sought it, then, within the sunkissed walls of the great cities of the south. It avoided me. Thus, I chased it across the rolling hills of the north. It outran me. So I crept at it through the endless plains of the steppes. It eluded me. Now that I tire of hunting, I have finally realised my folly. It was always at my heels.
This senseless farce of a show has dragged on for too long.
Tis time for the curtains to fall. No encore.
Raise the final stone for me.
[Originally written by the player of Crow (Derakoth)]
