Post by horrorTerror on Jun 29, 2015 10:37:59 GMT -5
In memory of everyone who the game has birthed only to slaughter, and all others.
Every world. Every player. Every Land, every Prospit and Derse and Skaia, every Battlefield and Genesis Frog grown there, all the universes decayed to nothing, every last First Guardian with no purpose left, all those exiles who live on only to see the end and theirs with it, all those universes denied all of their gods but zodiacs, faithborn weaklings, and fractured whisperings. Every consort and denizen and land familiar and animal. You. Every carapace, every abstraction, every child torn from their world and home by the meteors and other condemning disasters, every horrorterror, every angel, Eldritch and true-Yaldabaoth themselves loves lost, all of Paradox Space torn apart slowly until we all fall to the strings. Every doomed timeline repeating all these deaths all over again. Every dreambubble. Every player tossed into instrumentation for and against, everything ever. All scratched out, tossed into the heavens behind the strings out of everyone's reach. All those saccharine doppelgangers who realized that everything was for naught.
All of you. No-one is left unmourned.
...watching sessions die and be replaced only to die again and again is really sad, ok?
Every world. Every player. Every Land, every Prospit and Derse and Skaia, every Battlefield and Genesis Frog grown there, all the universes decayed to nothing, every last First Guardian with no purpose left, all those exiles who live on only to see the end and theirs with it, all those universes denied all of their gods but zodiacs, faithborn weaklings, and fractured whisperings. Every consort and denizen and land familiar and animal. You. Every carapace, every abstraction, every child torn from their world and home by the meteors and other condemning disasters, every horrorterror, every angel, Eldritch and true-Yaldabaoth themselves loves lost, all of Paradox Space torn apart slowly until we all fall to the strings. Every doomed timeline repeating all these deaths all over again. Every dreambubble. Every player tossed into instrumentation for and against, everything ever. All scratched out, tossed into the heavens behind the strings out of everyone's reach. All those saccharine doppelgangers who realized that everything was for naught.
All of you. No-one is left unmourned.
...watching sessions die and be replaced only to die again and again is really sad, ok?