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The World Was

The... war? Struggle? What does one call the near death of a people over hundreds of years? How does one describe the horrors and the hungers and the loss, mere inches, mere moments away from victory? How can one put to words the feeling, the knowledge that you are right, that what you are doing is necessary, yet simultaneously impossible? Suffering. An Age of Suffering. The Age of Suffering in the East has ended.

The time for the Doom of the Homelands is upon us.

The World Is

We have heard the Truth of Artasadessa, and of Aturdokht and Artavardiya. Though I myself am Meaningless, I have found Meaning in these truths, as they are added to the Scrolls of Wisdom. We return home, hopeful beyond all hope that those who have remained in our lands have kept to the Right-Working True Flame, of Vahishrta, that they might be informed of this new Truth as it has been born of direct conflict with Suffering Itself.

My eyes have never seen the fabled flames of Asanšiyāta, nor of the ancient writings upon the walls of Raŋhābhumis, yet my heart aches for them. To see that which our ancestors' ancestors laid down, welcoming us to a land our peoples have not set foot in within generations, would bring me great satisfaction.

The World Shall Be

Yet our scouts tell us of peoples already settled there, speaking in unfamiliar ways, and with customs different than our own. Perhaps it is that Suffering continues. Nevertheless, we must press on - to the East lays nothing but chaos and destruction, a land of such Apathy that it drives them to propagate it. For the alternative is our own stagnation, that we remain where we are, Suffering forevermore as we battle it.

Thus it is that I turn my attentions instead to those newfound friends in the southeast, and do write them a fond farewell, and do receive answers to many of our questions.