Dalek Caan (talk | contribs) (A book by an unknown author. It mostly contains loosely connected thoughts, appearing a lot like an excerpt, likely from a diary.) |
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But, I digress. While they never bore me, these little mortals oftentimes frustrate me. No sense for long term development, no strive for true greatness. They all need something to hold onto. Be it a craft, an entity to pray to or some other - more or less trivial - thing to hold onto. | But, I digress. While they never bore me, these little mortals oftentimes frustrate me. No sense for long term development, no strive for true greatness. They all need something to hold onto. Be it a craft, an entity to pray to or some other - more or less trivial - thing to hold onto. | ||
| − | Not even age seems to cure such a cropped perspective. The elves have adopted a life of isolation and stagnation, in their city of frozen history. Merely a handful of their kind enjoy my heartfelt appreciation. Although I must admit: If | + | Not even age seems to cure such a cropped perspective. The elves have adopted a life of isolation and stagnation, in their city of frozen history. Merely a handful of their kind enjoy my heartfelt appreciation. Although I must admit: If elves find their true path they certainly have the potential to become great minds and personalities. Unfortunately, that also applies for but a handful of their sort. |
Among all these mortals, humans certainly enjoy my greatest favour. They are like a hay fire: Hot and bright and swift to die down. But their relentless strive to achieve paired with such an excruciatingly short lifespan often finds a way to baffle me. | Among all these mortals, humans certainly enjoy my greatest favour. They are like a hay fire: Hot and bright and swift to die down. But their relentless strive to achieve paired with such an excruciatingly short lifespan often finds a way to baffle me. | ||
Revision as of 20:02, 2 June 2017
Ramblings of an Overlord
- this tome appears to contain some sort of excerpt, likely part of a diary. It is bound into relatively thin yet sturdy wooden squares, the front of cover is decorated with a stylized image of an emerald dragon. The enormous beast sits atop a mountain, gazing upon cities and villages with a gentle, benevolent smile.*
A curious little gathering of the most diverse nature I ever bore witness to. Despite centuries of fascination with study, travel and exploration, this place, through some odd circumstance, managed to have me shackled. In no land far or near have I ever had the chance to experience such an abundance of mystery, secret masters and menacing nightmares.
But, I digress. While they never bore me, these little mortals oftentimes frustrate me. No sense for long term development, no strive for true greatness. They all need something to hold onto. Be it a craft, an entity to pray to or some other - more or less trivial - thing to hold onto.
Not even age seems to cure such a cropped perspective. The elves have adopted a life of isolation and stagnation, in their city of frozen history. Merely a handful of their kind enjoy my heartfelt appreciation. Although I must admit: If elves find their true path they certainly have the potential to become great minds and personalities. Unfortunately, that also applies for but a handful of their sort.
Among all these mortals, humans certainly enjoy my greatest favour. They are like a hay fire: Hot and bright and swift to die down. But their relentless strive to achieve paired with such an excruciatingly short lifespan often finds a way to baffle me.
And still. I do not grow tired of these creatures. Their bustling settlements, sense of identity and yes, even misdoings manage to break my boredom and indifference with so many things from time to time. A fascination I cannot pour into words, not even in my precious native tongue.
If there is any quintessence to this painfully brief treatment then it is that... One can achieve many a thing, live through a myriad experiences and still be touched and formed, even if only marginally, by those around them. Yes, these brief lights in history can indeed leave an impact, if not in name then in fond memory. For that is what may always persist. This is not the rambling of a cynic, but of a loving sentinel. It is a good thing that most know little of the horrors time has brought into existence. May they sleep in peace.