Before it begins, remember this.
Remember that this place is not what it is.
Nor art thou, nor am I, nor even the sun and rain. Remember that what we fight for is temporal and plain.
Remember, win or lose, that the worlds will go on turning, and I may search for thee in Hell, paying the price of yearning.
But should we chance to meet again, and should that meet be glad, remember on these things as true, though hells be myriad.
Betwixt the fabled Spires drifts a continual keening, that fathomless communicates to all an echoed meaning.
The Lattice of all things is neither linear nor simply told. Mark it now, and mark it well. Time does not end. It folds.
Understand that knowledge itself has a particular art. Its ends are unreckonable. It begins in the heart.
Thy will, thy words, thy fists. Three things belong to thee, to mark the boundaries of a self within infinity.
Make of it a majesty; make of it a pyre. Within these boundaries, we all may hold the world entire.
In every waking moment is a leaf about to fall. To live is to take up the task of trying to catch them all.
It is to punch the moon down. It is to drink the rain. It is to bet with certainty on what cannot be ascertained.
Thus, don your heart as armor. Thus, strike with your wounds. Thus, smile for the devil. Thus, punch down the moon.
-- The Elegy of Base, as delivered to the Myrmidon One, in the moments before the Battle of the Sunless Village.