Everything is gone.
One of your surviving enchantments helpfully tells you it has been two-thousand and thirty-two years since you retreated into your own pocket dimension to pursue magical research away from distractions. You struggle to grasp that span of time as you try to put your mind back together.
Distractions.
Thieves who wanted to steal your healing spells to save their cities from pandemics, not realizing this is exactly what the demons wanted.
Short-sighted fools who begged you to defeat the dragon-lords laying waste to entire kingdoms, failing to see the greater horrors the Scaled Ones kept at bay.
The agents of pesky godlings, feeling threatened by occult powers that began to creep into their domain, heedless of the foundation of sand they stood on.
Once you had grasped at the ultimate essence of magic, you were sure you would be able to finally fix everything. But until then all these irritants were preventing you from completing your grand quest. And so you left them and their world behind, until you were ready.
And finally, after years, decades, centuries, millennia, of toil, you were on the cusp of achieving your life-long ambition, when everything broke.
Reality shattered, and with it your mind, your magic, the layers upon layers of artifacts and spells you had buried yourself under melting away like ice cubes in a furnace, your extradimensional sanctuary popped like a mere bubble, all beneath the assault of something completely outside your knowledge.
Your crumpled body crawled across dry dust, as you looked at a sky filled with cracks, the moons of Home falling apart before your eyes.
You never wanted this to happen.
So why did it?
Have you not spent your entire life, your every moment, grappling with the universe, grasping its secrets one by one, to prevent something like this from occurring? To prevent death and suffering?
And yet, you were entirely blindsided.
The heavy weight of failure threatens to crush the slowly re-assembling fragments of your mind, the ever-burning pyre of your previously unfaltering will sputtering as your recovering senses inform you of how lifeless and twisted Home has become.
But if you gave up now, then would it not all have been truly worthless? Your efforts merely more of the ash and dust you crawl through?
Inaction is death. You are not dead. Yet.
> You see now that your long isolation was a mistake. Seek out survivors, if there are any.
> To wonder out into the unknown without preparation, is that not the actions of a fool? Establish a base of operations, which will perhaps become a beacon of hope.
> All the power in the world without understanding and the wisdom to apply it properly is worthless. Your greatest priority should be to determine what just happened.
> You actions are your own. Write in a path of your own choosing.
Author
Topic: What is good? (Read 1694 times)