The vocals swelled within the Mage’s ears. His fingers flew across the keyboard, an echo of the spellcasting dexterity they had once possessed.
So fight with us. Don’t let them tell you what reality is. Don’t let them tell you that you’d rather watch reality television sluts pander for attention than watch the ki warriors of the aethereal plane fight and triumph against of the forces of darkness. That’s what they want to be real.
You know better. You know you don’t want that. If you do, then you are dead already.
It is hard for me some days, and it will be hard for you too. This world’s reality is heavy. In the other life, I was a evoker. I studied, and I practiced, and I called down incandescent fury out of the aether to burn and freeze and ruin my foemen. I could strengthen my friends and harm my foes with a word, and I felt those words burn inside of me, a burning that was beyond pleasurable. You may have said the word ‘ecstasy’ in your life before, but you know it not. I knew it.
For my soulfriend healer and I, it is hard. Our comrades in arms were masters of the blade, the fist, the bow. Although this benighted land has cursed them with bodies that are soft, pale, and weak, still there is hope that they might attain some semblance of their former glory through exercise, through work and weaponcraft. But for us there is no such hope. The lightning will never obey me, and the dragons cannot hear my cries.
Only these words remain to me. Though it is bitter, I am the one charged with the keeping of the chronicle. I can still visualize and speak with greater clarity than any of them, so it falls to me. As I remember events from the other life, battles and glories and loves, I write them down here, in blog and wiki form. The more I write, the more we all remember. The more we remember, the more we dream.
This is the only magic left to me. If I could write us home, I would. If I can, I will.
We are kin. And while there are worlds worth fighting for, the one before your eyes is not one of them.
Let us show you the way.
The window of his room slid open.