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[Arahim]

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I wonder what sort of boogeyman posts his intent across the land, and bids others to oversee them.

I wonder how printed words could send my proud people scurrying, and those who do not hide, into sleepless nights.

Are there so few challenges in the world that it's doe-eyed populance sit idly, fretting over long gone days that seemed ill, and dark, secretly hoping for their return? Only to run pell-mell when such days again crept up upon them?

Will there come a day when one can throw a stone and -not- hit an ab'Arawn, or a Skyfire, or some jumped up, do-nothing noble who longs for the lofty, and essentially useless, title of 'Regent?'

These people, though multitudinous, have muddied our waters with mediocrity.

Where are those silent few who can stand on their own merits, and not simply upon name recognition or title?

Where are this land's leaders?

Our memories have greatly outgrown our dreams, and so we stagnate.

[Arahim]

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Heroes stand in neat lines.

They turn this way and that at the snap of the lash.

Their world becomes a few square yards.

They lose all original thought, and creativity in dogmatic tradition.

Walk several miles on.

Those who profess a love for chaos call it freedom.

"Walk in Darkness."

Eldritch power is aggrandized with words like "Oblivion."

Sycophantic mummers, begging to simply follow...at best they are a child's definition of 'spooky.'

Both are eerily similar in their faults.

[Arahim]

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I have a curious aversion to today's breed of leader.

You can tell the types I mean easily, if you bother to take a moment's time to see what flaunt, and what they attempt to bury.

Their fingers are stained with ink.

An adverse effect from copious letter writing or notice posting. Also, lest we forget, their never ending cascade of titles or half-imagined accolades that litter their overly showy signature.

Though a greater portion of these well titled individuals cannot muster much in the way of military might to actually -enforce- these lofty claims, taking the time to read their many edicts, and slog through their overwrought appellations, has caused many an enemy to die of boredom.

[Arahim]

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Have I tossed away whatever bit of potential I have been blessed with?

Should I have blindly allowed those around me to bolster me?

Rode the scentless winds of archaic sentiments and outdated tenets, content and coddled in the glow of those born of fortunate name?

Surely my shadow would then be cast. A form without face. Set into motion at the whims of another.

If such a life was ever laid upon me, I have shaken off such fetters, and don the black and gold no longer.

I am confident that my qualities and shortcomings are quite sufficient to make an impression, good or ill, without the prejudice, and stigma associated with some gaudy color, and those who still wear them.

I have never been close minded. Nor have I ever lost my individuality to dangerous hero worship, or hated conformity.

This is called Freedom.

There is a new giddiness in me, knowing that I will fail or succeed in all that I do without the hindrance of automatons chafing against me and preaching "Kingdom" and "Brotherhood" as bywords for uniformity. Distracting me from the future with unyielding bleating.

Sheep in wolves' clothing.

Lesser scions of a bloodline that saw it's finest hour far too long ago. Kept alive by the tenuous strands of what was, rather than what could be.

For all of this, I still keep my residence within the bounds of Sanctus, tho' I am no longer bound.

It is a land where no hooded man may trod unmolested, and Oh! how peacefully I sleep knowing this!

It is their crowning achievement and gift to civilized societies everywhere. May it be forever remembered and lauded as it should be. Knights, and Kings. A bloodline most noble...but no hoods.

[Arahim]

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Once upon a time, when I was young, and all I had in my hopes and dreams was to be a knight right out of the picture books, I heard tell of Darrien Church, The Lich Lord.

Hand in hand with tales of slain Skyfires, and unholy atrocities, and a deep seated, ancient hatred, were the most horribly painted pictures of the land of Umbra.

If one took a moment to give logical credence to such stories, one would see a land where no thing could take root, or breathe, or paint it's color in the world growing wild within our sights. A land where no sane being would live, whether it was his great misfortone to be born there or no.

Though the truth is much different than the tales spun by old wives and dying noblemen.

The truth is truly more boring, by leaps and bounds, than any bit of propaganda, or myth spun by storytellers or 'Lightbearer' found anywhere in all of Sosaria.

Umbra, and the current regime of old-school Ebon Skull members and current hangers on, is stagnant, and the proof of this lies in the purported leaders of such a regime, and their self-important, convoluted public dictates.

Even as a Sanctan, by adherence to humilty and simple good manners,events allowed me access to lands where the black and gold were just not welcomed in any sense of the word, and now that I have renounced all such affiliation, my doors are much further opened...much to to my dismay.

Were the common people to take notice, and really read the posted messages from the Lich Lord, his goals would be realized all too easily.

If anyone took the time and effort to go through every silly, supercilious title or claim laid forth by Darrien Church, the world would be missing eight tenths of it's living populance, and Oblivion would actually make one iota of sense.

As an aside, it is my understanding that liches have given up a mortal life for immortal undeath. This is, possibly, the only bit of Oblivion that does not sound like either psuedo-science or psuedo religion to me. Only an immortal, dead or undead, would have the unending time to write out a so long and utterly useless list of vague accomplishments, and appellations.

It is surprising that denoting their boot size is not as important as being the recipient of some mirror...but what do I know?

What I do know, is that the undead of Umbra, and the antiquated Order of the Ebon Skull are much more devious than what most of us suspect.

Many have died of old age reading public edicts. But many more have died due to an overdose of banality spoken through undead lips, and five times that have died of plain old boredom.

Life is for the living, and yet we let dusty corpses and the old ways haunt our everyday.