Thorain Toradur: Power

Power. The object of desire. My muse, my mother, father and sire. What is this word to which I cling with such fervor? Unelvish. Mortal. A waining thing. I was born in the woods, from a spider's nest. There is no memory before that, no life, a riddle, a painting in white. Once I held the idea so firmly in my hands; as a warrior clings to the hilt of his sword, and yet now, as the world materializes before my whims, it thins into vapor: power: the enigma.

I watched the township grow, into a fledgling. I watched my friends shape the world about us. People flock to Verdenhall like butterflies to a nectar-sweet pool, and I see what Gren seeks, the seat of his power. The seat of the keep. His personal castle. Yet, with a sharpened blade, others watch, Meiszko cuts with words, while Gren fells foes with his axe, an endless battle wages under the guise of peace and heads roll. Is this where true power lies? I search for power in arcane secrets, in knowledge, yet to what purpose? My Gren and Meiszko find power in the ability to inspire others, to lead, to shape not the world, but the people around them. Gren clings to his faith in Iomedae. Meiszko clings to his deceptions. I cling to my staff. Horrace? His axe? His faith? His lies to himself?

I left Kyonin downtrodden, yet I could return a king. I. I. I. The key to power is in this word. I, who fears death. Elves may be immortal, but they too die, by sword, fire and disease. This is why we seek magic. Magic. The gate to power. Power is upon us, it is immanent, as though nothing can stop it.

And then It fades.

What is power in a world where gods may die? What is power when one fears death? What power is knowledge when mystery is infinite? Now that power flows in my words, gestures and thought, all has become ash. True power is the ability to be powerless. What power is rulership without subjects? What power is immortality when immortality it's self is an illusion? What worth is life without death? What power lies in death?

Power is like a mist in my mind. Dissipated, formless and worthless except in it's suggestion. Reminding me to be wary, to wield with care that which I have at my disposal. For should this desire take form in my mind, should I allow it to rule I shall loose that which is most dear. Self. In searching for self, I shall loose myself. Therefore, friends, I look to you, you anchor me to this world and laugh when I fall. Please, should I forget to care for the taste of wine or the scent of oven baked bread, remind me that power is nothing without the joy of knowing that it is ephemeral as time and worthless as sand in the dessert. When I pass from time, I find solace in knowing that none will remember my name.