I'm consumed by wonder of this mysterious God. There are so many questions crowding my mind, tormenting me.

Bronze glowing veins in the living rock beneath Branishor.
Mysteriously Bronzed objects held by the few, gone now...doors opened to strange sights.
Fascinating tales told of words caught in static haze.

magic. mystery. and. . . . . magnificence.

Ah! I haven't the words--

Other adventurers seem so casual about it all. "Yes," they tell me, "the Gods are perfect, what --you mean you've never seen one? Only heard them speak from above? Well, they are gods, after all"

I want to somehow wash out their eyes so they can see again! But instead all I hear is whispers and arguments about disobedience and--I---

I'm wrong to be irritated by this. We are humans and we ought rightfully to concern ourselves with human affairs.

But...


It was Balthazar who drew us to become involved with Godly affairs by what he did. He is dead and gone, but his greatest evil act was to--

It's over. What's done is done.

I can't focus on my training. I can't think straight about how to go about hunting down the history of this newly-discovered God. I can't even sleep well. The memory of the sight--Ah! The sight of Him bursting his bonds, of His indescribable beauty!, the awesome power growing in him as those --yes, those disobedient few --

Words...useless words.

I must pull myself together. I must get my feet back underneath me. But I --

I can't stop seeking Him. I can't--