Raiders. They have come again, this time so bold as to come into the town itself. They burned and pillaged, took slaves, raped whomever they liked, and left.

The Rotten Old Bitch called the Council together, and since Father has been gone these many years, it was me she flayed with her tongue, me she blamed. And she was right, wasn't she? Not my personal fault there's no way to save us, but the fault of my long-dead family. We all know that. And while we are besieged on all sides, she plays scapegoating games. Never mind that if we had all worked together from the beginning, we might have a chance now. But she pulled in her resources and cut off the money, and told the Crown to fuck off. But the fault goes around again, and lands on us: we gave her that opportunity.

Part of me wants to discard it, to just move along. There are other worlds. But Father made me promise, and I find that while I am not capable of keeping the promise, I am also unable to just abandon it altogether.

And I would initiate, for the power, but if I did not die in the beginning, I would surely die before the end-- me, ambling along, with my twisted foot dragging behind me. So, you can see that's not really an option.

Your kind aren't supposed to be crippled, say the eyes of all the people around me. Your kind are supposed to be warriors, fighters, mages. What the hell happened to you?

My kind.

I wonder

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