Like my esteemed colleague Fenko, I have been playing the Aion Beta too! Whilst I don't have her wonder photoshoppery talents, I do have a few screen shots to display.

And the crowd goes wild!


The first shot is of Apolloin, the Elyos Gladiator, as he relaxes on a bunch in fabled Sanctum - the capital city of the Elyos. He's wearing the full Plate outfit that he crafted himself, of which I was unduly chuffed. ;)




Here, Apolloin rests from his labours at the Forge.



And, of course, you all want to see the wings, right? Here they are, in all their snowy goodness!


But, just to show I'm giving equal opportunities to the Asmodean side, I also introduce Kikuchiyo my Asmodean Gladiator. I'm basing his backstory off that of Kikuchiyo from Seven Samurai by Kurosawa - he's the son of a farmer who became a Raider and a Raider who rose to become a Daeva. Here he is beating seven bells out of a giant hamster...

So, it's whinge time on the Apollyblog. Well, a little.

Before I left Guerrilla Games to move to Canada I wrote a series of history articles for the game I was working on. It's probably the single best thing I've done in a 13 year career and I was so proud and happy with them when I was finished that it defies rationality.

Anyway, the articles themselves are being released and - of course - once anything creative enters the public domain there are always a vocal minority who want to poke it with a stick and make sniffy comments about it. My timeline, story and articles are no exception to this universal rule.

Of course, I feel like Mother Bear with her cubs. I sweated for days over the timeline that ties it all together. Each individual story. The proof reading. The feedback. The rewriting for tone and message. Now people are being very mean-spirited and close minded about my efforts. Bastards.

It's not that it DOESN'T have mistakes in it - I know most of them, I imagine, and each one feels like the literary equivalent of a screaming toothache whenever I see it. Details I got a bit skew. Chains of events that seemed perfectly logical when I wrote the piece, but now seem a bit too serendipitous. It's a work of man, of course, and therefore prey to the usual human failings - but why do people seem to enjoy throwing rocks at the windows of another persons endeavors?

Actually, I'm talking about one or two people out of the hundreds that have read it. The vast majority have remained silent and I'd say that the supporters outweigh the detractors by about 10 to 1 so far. What surprised me is not so much that there was someone on the internets who would feel the need to be scathing about my writing, it's my kneejerk response to that criticism.

Ah well. I'm pretty sure I could dismantle them in a debate on the subject - but of course I'm not allowed. The negative PR of a literary brawl over the backstory of the game would outweigh the effect of burying the one fly in the ointment. Best to let him sneer and do his party-piece "As a writer I feel..." so that he feels better about the fact that HE didn't get to pen the backstory of a AAA software franchise and I did.

/snark

Now, here's a link to the snarky forum posting: http://www.killzone.com/kz/_ns:YVByb3h5LTF8YzB8ZDB8ZXByb3h5VGFyZ2V0PTE9TDNOalpXVXZZbTloY21RdmJXVnpjMkZuWlQ5aWIyRnlaQzVwWkQwNUpuUm9jbVZoWkM1cFpEMHhORFk0Tnlad1lXZGxQVE09PQ__/forums.psml

And here's a link to the main page, where you can see the articles themselves: http://www.killzone.com

It's been a long time since I wrote here, but I'm going to start up the habit once more!

Previously this journal was a writing exercise and a sort of extended meta-game experience for myself and my good friend Annemarieke "Luse" van Spanje - but now I'msubverting it to my own ends and using it as my official journal.

In here I'll be chronicling what's happening with me, so all my Dutch friends and my English family can keep up with events. Worklife, homelife and all the things that happen to an ex-ex-expatriate as he hops like a sandflea around the globe!

Here's the story so far!

When I got back to the UK I actually got quite ill for awhile. Then there were all the stresses and strains of getting my "home office" set up. Things still aren't really working to my satisfaction, but I think certain things are just going to have to be endured. Work disagrees and speaks of sending me a secured laptop to work on - we'll see what happens.

My brother is down for the next week or so. He's having a rough time at the moment - seems exhausted and I'm hoping he improves. Things are looking up a little more than before in that regard - he got a good night's sleep and that's helping.

I just found out that I've been invited to be a guest speaker at a symposium thrown on behalf of the Flemish Cultural bureau, or something similar. I pointed out that I'd be in Canada by the time it was running, but they still seem keen to pick up my expenses and fly me down to speak for half an hour. Seems like an interesting jaunt, but we'll see what they say when they clock how expensive plane tickets are!

In other news, I just recieved my order of the entire 52 espisode run of the Monkey! series. Frikkin' awesome! Over the top martial arts, eastern philosophising and a really dodgy sets and props!

Right! Back to work! More as it comes in!

On the surface of it, writing about a time where I gave myself over to wrath seems a little redundant. I virtually am the angel of righteous fury, after all…

So I’m going to try to dig deeper. I could tell you about any number of adrenaline soaked encounters that left me panting and standing in a pool of blood. The First alone knows how many times I’ve lost my head in combat – so perhaps the tale of how that came to be a part of my nature is a suitable offering?

I am what is known as Namaru in these days – an Angel of the Dawn. My substance is supposed to be Light and Inspiration, but what many forget is that we are also the bearers of the First’s fire. You can, of course, interpret that different ways – personally I always took it to mean that I was supposed to carry the fire of his passion for our struggle to my brothers and sisters. That’s very similar to how I was in life, and it’s a role I seized upon. For the earliest part of the war I was a noble champion, a Knight without peer and without regret – because my heart was pure and my actions exemplary.

So how did this change? Like anyone bathing in filth I became unclean.

The war turned to the worst when the Demons, those Fallen bastards, started killing and devouring our soldiers, rather than simply defeating and unmaking them. By the time that The First got serious about winning and created my brothers and I, the tide was very definitely against us. We had some serious catching up to do, and us Malhim weren’t going to be enough to do it all ourselves. So I would talk to the other houses and bring them the Fire they needed to get into the fray – even at the risk of all they were and could be. I had some successes, but eloquence with words has never been my strong suit so I decided to concentrate on some truly inspiring deeds instead.

That’s where it went wrong for me.

My first few battles I fought like a Templar – I gave mercy, I accepted surrender, I avoided targeting mortals. I even let those demons who used mortals as a shield to cover their escape get away – preferring to preserve the mortal lives they cast into my path. In battle, I always held back. I wanted my foes to understand, to come to terms with being beaten by me and reaching the conclusion that surrender was the only way forward. I didn’t want to butcher and slaughter. I always held my anger in check – as hard as it became at times.

Then I fought Baelsharrat. He was part of Belial’s mob, and the sick and insane experiments he’d been performing on the mortals he was supposed to be caring for… Well… My anger grew and grew with each room of his twisted manse that I cleared of opposition. It was, I think, supposed to destroy me through grief and revulsion, to weaken me for the final struggle. It only made me furious. So furious that the fire that burned in my heart caught in my physical form. By the time I’d cleared the ground floor, I was leaving footsteps of flame behind me. By the time I’d cleared the upper floor, smoke was oozing through the pores of my skin. As I advanced up the tiny spiral stairway of his tower garret, I was leaving patches of peeled and blackened woodwork behind me where my hand touched the railing.

I won’t detail the final battle, but I fought like fiend myself. No mercy. No compassion. I held nothing back, and when I finished the whole room was ablaze around us. Wherever the flames touched him, he’d flinch – but I could barely feel them. They wreathed around me and danced in my eyes and heart. The flames welcomed me as one of them, from that day I WAS one of them. I never looked back and, as I drove my burning sword through Baelsharrat’s heart for the final time and intoned his True Name, he realized that he wasn’t going to be simply unmade.

I felt his pain and fear and it gladdened me. The fires reached for the heavens and I gave his heart to them as an offering. What the flames gave me in return is known to you all – from that day my visage changed, and whilst it was not a pleasing change to my enemies I can’t say it was pleasing to my friends either. That is the day I took fire into my heart and made it my own, not the day I surrendered to Wrath, but the day it surrendered to me.

For some reason, a very powerful entity desires the answers to a series of personal questions from three very disparate individuals. The souls of each of the three were gathered in the night and brought to a simple room with three chairs, some soft drinks and a table.

The first to arrive is Apolloin. A three meter tall giant with snowy white wings and short blonde hair. The heavily muscled angelic warrior is the most comfortable in this situation, recognizing a mind to mind discussion as he does.

The next is a thin youth in his early twenties with shoulder length blonde hair. He peers around, barely restraining his impatience at being summoned like this, but settles into one of the chairs.

Last to enter is the youngest. Also blonde, however this time from a bottle, James is a rawboned surfer type who would seem large and imposing were he not sat next to the perfection of the Angel.

The questions begin:

1) How old are you?
Apolloin: *shrugs* As old as mankind. I was born the first time in the city of Sagun, if that means anything to anyone nowadays.
Charles: I’m in my fourth year at Harvard.
James: I’m a young and free twenty-something, thanks.

2) Height?
Apolloin: 3.0 (9’11”)
Charles: 1.73 (5’7”)
James: 1.86 (6’2”)

3) Do you have any bad habits?
Apolloin: I have problems controlling my temper, sometimes. And cigarettes.
Charles: Just the one, really. But Karen and I are giving each other space for now.
James: Nah, bro. I mean, I suppose I’m missing some good habits, but my idea of a good time is a huge wave, or sitting on the couch with my buds and the Xbox. Is that bad?

4) Are you a virgin?
Apolloin: Not for a *very* long time now.
Charles: *sighs impatiently* According to the letter of the term, I suppose I am.
James: Two words for you, dude. Beach. Parties.

5) Who's your mate?
Apolloin: The closest thing in these days would be my general, Samael.
Charles: David has helped me work through a lot of difficult decisions.
James: Well, there’s my surfer buddies, a’course. Then the Lizard, Rose and I hang out and game. I try and keep an eye out for little Jackie, too.


6) Do you have any kids?
Apolloin: Not yet. We’ve decided to try, though. Or at least Sharon decided and I agreed.
Charles: I don’t, no. My love seems to have a few though.
James: Dude! Like, no way, dude!

7) Favourite food?
Apolloin: I’m not really that bothered.
Charles: Really, how banal… Well, if you must know, I’m quite partial to good French or Italian food. Japanese food for a change.
James: Get the grill, man! Beach barbecues are the best.

8) Favourite ice cream flavour?
Apolloin: Vanilla. No that isn’t funny.
Charles: Sorbet has more taste, I think. Lemon or cherry.
James: Rocky road, man.

9) Ever killed anyone?
Apolloin: Countless thousands.
Charles: I… shot two people recently… And perhaps, worse.
James: No way! Who wants that kind of heat from the 5-0, man? Just wave the gun around and most people run for it. I’ve killed a few monsters, though.

10) Hate anyone?
Apolloin: I hate my enemy, utterly. Whoever that happens to be.
Charles: Not really. I dislike Solwrath, my Hierarch.
James: No way, man. That negative stuff will totally bring you down.

11) Any secrets?
Apolloin: No.
Charles: Let the dead stay buried, they say. I don’t know about that, but I know some secrets should stay concealed.
James: Totally! I’m actually the scion of ancient family of monsterhunters from, like, England! Oh… Well… No secrets anymore, I guess.

12) Love anyone?
Apolloin: Well… Actually, can we talk about something else?
Charles: Only with every fiber of my being. But don’t tell her I mean that seriously or I’ll lose the game.
James: Not really. I mean, I love my buds in the investigation business we run, and all, but I don’t think you mean it that way…

13) Ever slept in all day?
Apolloin: Sometimes I think I’ve slept for Millenia. Time to wake up.
Charles: I would only do that on the day I aspired to mediocrity.
James: Well, that depends, dude. I mean, some days I don’t do much, but if you average everything out across the whole week, I bet I’m quite normal.

14) Favourite show?
Apolloin: I don’t really watch.
Charles: Ah, the morphine of the chattering classes… No.
James: Sometimes MTv… I like action movies… Oh! The Shield!

15) Favourite band or music?
Apolloin: The music of the spheres? Seriously, I have a soft spot for traditional Goth.
Charles: Where to start? Some of Vivaldi’s concertos are amazingly insightful. Personally, though, I’m a big fan of Motzart’s work for strings and piano – at least the more modern interpretations. Personally, though, my favorite would be the Canon written by Johan Pachelbel.
James: *looks up at Charles* Dude, I didn’t understand a word of that…

16) Eye colours?
Apolloin: Blue.
Charles: Gray.
James: Brown.

17) Skin and build?
Apolloin is a pale skinned man with classically proportioned ‘strong’ muscle tone. He has numerous scars on his body, though none serious.
Charles is thin and not particularly toned, although he does take some care of himself.
James would probably be considered in excellent physical condition, were he not stood next to the immensity and perfection of Apolloin. He’s strong, broadshouldered and very tanned.

18) Rain, sunshine?
Apolloin: Flying in rain sucks. I prefer the sunshine.
Charles: Sometimes the rain outside simply underlines the quality of the things we build to keep it out.
James: Sun, man. Sunny days on the beach.

19) Pool, beach?
Apolloin: Either? Neither? I had a bad experience in a pool… Well, it wasn’t BAD exactly… *trails off into silence*
Charles: The pool. I try and get some laps in once a week, but I’ve been failing lately.
James: Dude! How can you even ASK! Pools are for lamers.

20) Camping, or staying home?
Apolloin: Home.
Charles: It always amazes me that a family unhappy with the comforts they can’t purchase for home make themselves feel better by forgoing the ones they have.
James: Usually sleep on the beach once a week or so. In the summer, that is.
21) Dog, Cat?
Apolloin: A peacock?
Charles: Yesss… Well… A cat, maybe. Nothing preferably.
James: Dude! I could SO get a dog now I’ve got my own place!

22) Do you believe in aliens?
Apolloin: I’m reliably informed that they were never created.
Charles: No. Well… Maybe, I suppose.
James: Monsters are real. Why not Alien Monsters?

23) Natural born, or clone?
Apolloin: Both, actually.
Charles: Natural, thank you. Although sometimes I wish…
James: Dude… I suppose it’s possible I was cloned. That would be awesome! I think I was just born though.

24) Car or Ship..?
Apolloin: Neither. I prefer to fly – and that doesn’t mean a plane.
Charles: My new gift from Tyson, I’d say. The Ferrari Enzo… *dreamy expression*
James: Either. I’d love a corvette, or a shiny speedboat!

25) Ever destroyed something out of blind rage?
Apolloin: People. Friendships. Cities.
Charles: I’ve killed out of fear, but not rage. Not yet.
James: Hmmm… I threw a glass at someone who annoyed me, once.

26) Any unusual things about you?
Apolloin: I’m an expression of pure will, one of the Malhim of the Creator.
Charles: How special would you like? I’m a genius. I’m a musical prodigy. I’m an Awakened Mage. I date dead people.
James: Well, apart from the whole Scion thing, I mentioned earlier, I can do magic.

27) How much food/drink do you need a day?
Apolloin: Need? Not much, I think.
Charles: I’m grumpy in the morning without my coffee. I try and make myself eat two meals a day, but I often get sidetracked – still I’ll never starve.
James: Breakfast is hella important, dude. I start with some OJ and cereal. Then at Lunchtime I keep the energy levels up with a sandwich – load up on carbos to keep you trucking during the long day. For dinner it’s mostly protein and salad – stay away from pasta or potato after about four o’clock.

28) Favourite place?
Apolloin: Airborne.
Charles: I like the calm of the University Laboratory. The library. The concert hall. My apartment on campus. These are good places.
James: The offices are cool! My rooms on the top floor. The beach, of course! The mall is a great place to spend time if you have some spare.

29) Name your poison:
Apolloin: Whiskey and cigarettes.
Charles: Champagne is a bit gauche for me, but a good wine I drank recently was a 1992 Chapoutier Cote Rotie Mordoree.
James: Beer, man. I won’t touch anything harder, and no WAY would I smoke or do drugs. You have no idea what that shit does to your body…

30) Which tarot card would suit you?
Apolloin: Justice.
Charles: Death, of course.
James: The Magician, I think.

There’s an old English recruiting poster, I think it was created in World War I. I saw it while browsing online and I thought how effective it was.

There’s a man sat on a chair, with his son playing nearby. A little girl sits on his lap, having asked that dreaded question and you can see the beads of sweat on his brow and his expression as he summons up the words to tell her that Daddy avoided the fighting and, in fact, did nothing during the war.

The idea was to persuade young men that a moments cowardice now would echo throughout their lives to come, but for those of us for whom that choice never existed the message serves a different purpose. What answer would we give to that daughter?

Having been with Sharon for over a year now, I can sometimes imagine the cosy existence of being her mortal husband, raising a mortal family with her – as impossible as that idea actually is for someone that isn’t a person at all, merely a principality, a personification of an idea. I sometimes wonder what answer I would give my putative daughter to that theoretical question. Would I tell her of the burning of Dudael, the Ebon legions stronghold? The ultimate vengeance that act represented, as we sent Abbadon’s dreams and glory crashing to the ground in holy fire? Or would I tell her of escorting the Ophanim to sentence the Lightbringer himself, Lucifer?

Irregardless, the story that others would tell of me would be the act for which I am second-most famous after being a guardian of the pit – the death of Senival, once the power of Slender Streams and a mighty angel of the Fifth house.

It was during the Age of Atrocities, when the demons were building their nations and the cities of the Fallen were stretching high enough to reach heaven itself. Our own forces were in retreat, and few Archangels were willing to risk a host in direct battle under those circumstances – but we Malhim were always a breed apart and we hunted in small groups, taking the mighty or the low depending on what prey the Lord sent us.

How we caught her, all unawares and unguarded, will always be a mystery to me. We were flying in a tight arrowhead formation, skimming the surface of a valley, when we spied her bathing all alone in the shallows of that beautiful stream. We barely gave it a thought, diving to the attack at once.

Having spied her more closely, though, I found I could not assault such beauty as I beheld directly. Instead I landed my force at the bank, and approached her. In play Senival had shed much of the Torment and Hate that twisted her. Again she was the radiant Power of Slender Streams, at home in the water and flowing grace personified. I could feel myself defiling even the echo of her Holy joy, and what we were about to do wrenched at my heart.

“Lady?” I managed to say, dumbfounded by her perfection, feeling my men similarly affected behind me. That was when she struck, of course. Perfidious water! Changeable as the tide, men say, is the heart of a woman. When Senival perceived our nature, discovering we were NOT Demons of her own legion, she immediately swelled to monstrous immensity. All her hatred for us Loyalists bobbed to the surface, and she became fearsome and terrifying. As the leader, I bore the brunt of her assault – it felt as if half the river struck me, boulders gashing my bronze skin and spilling my blood, breaking my body and bearing me away.

By the time I recovered and healed myself, the fight was almost over. My men had fought mightily, Malhim all, but I was their champion and my early absence had hurt them badly. Part shark, part great squid and part crashing ocean, Senival had broken and scattered my little band of hunters and I hurried to get back into the fight. We met on the shore of that river on equal terms, and for an age fire and water duelled back and forth. Her tentacles, teeth and numbing cold vied with my flaming sword and the holocaust caused by Apolloin awakened in wrath. Water flashed to steam, rocks cracked and trees burst aflame – I was mighty in my own right, although no match for her ancient power. But I was not alone, one of my brothers yet lived and together we harried Senival, cutting her off from the river and driving her out onto the plain. She slew my remaining brother, but now she was spent by her last attack – and I stood above her, fire dancing freely around me now, eyes shining with zeal and sword in my hand.

She shrank, exhausted and battered, wounded and beaten down to the figure I had seen earlier and she lay, at bay, amidst the conflagration I had caused. Finally she raised a hand to me – “Quarter!” she breathed, “I will face judgement”. But the fight had been too long and my losses too great. As I settled my grip on the hilt of my sword and held her eyes with mine, I found myself immune to her beauty, lost in the fire and blood and the hell of it all.

“I am your judgement and sentence, Senival.”

She recoiled, the stories about Malhim flashing into her mind – how we didn’t follow the usual rules (such as they were by then) and she realised she was doomed. She opened her mouth to speak again, but I beat her to it. I spoke one word, a name, and my blade cut down.

And the name of Senival no longer echoed in creation.

I often wonder if she would have spoken a curse to me then. Or begged still more for the extra life her trial and sentencing would have granted her.

It was a great blow to the Rebels at a time when they were in all places ascendant, I was hailed as a hero for fighting so obviously dangerous an opponent to death, and the muttering about how I should have brought her in alive did not start until well after the war finished.

That’s what I did in the war, and I find I regret it still.

We were discussing my last journal entry today, Luse and I. He said something out of character - I'd been expecting a scolding, to be honest, but instead he calmly and rationally said that he understood how I felt.

Death is light as a feather, Duty heavy as a mountain.

I was somewhat amazed, because that's EXACTLY how I felt. I felt tired. I felt used up. I felt that shouldering my pack and marching another weary 30 miles was fast becoming more than I could face.

Death is light as a feather. Surrender. Sleep. An ending to the pain. A sword day, a broken-sheild day and the ruin of the world. The only way I will ever lay down my arms, and the only way I will achieve my duty and atone for my failures. As an Angel. As a protector. As a friend.

Duty is heavy as a mountain. Because my duty now is to make good for the War and Rebellion. To ensure mankind is shepherded towards its destiny. To ensure that the Angels are there to inspire and protect them again. To make sure that the Celestial war no long rages on human soil. Give them back their world. Serve my lord. Protect my lover.

The two conflict.

Luse was speaking of the time after we win. I don't mean to suggest that he does that often - he knows that first we must win. But I felt no connection, no pull to discover and discuss. I did not care. The world that we fight for must have no war in it - the ruinous power that consumes mankind's greatest works and bends all his developments and achievements. There must be an end to the beast that ravages mankinds best and brightest, consumes his treasures and corrupts his youths.

And a world without war must perforce be a world without warriors.

I finally understand my task. I know what it is that I must do in the coming fight. I must fight to preserve Samael's vision for humanity and the world, yes, but all our faction must do that. My task. The special task that only I can do, and that I must do to finally earn the right to set aside my mountain - I must put an end to the Creator's most dangerous experiment.

I must kill the Malhim.

I must meet my brothers on the field and slay them. I must ensure that none escapes this purge, for a single warrior does not go idle for lack of an enemy, he merely builds a bigger empire. And when I close the eyes of the last of Heaven's Malhim, I must dispose of the final monster on earth. The one that is known as Apolloin.

Only when I have done this will mankind be free. Without this, all the rest of what we aim to do is useless. I must begin my preparations - what I propose is not going to be a simple matter of resolution and will, I must reclaim all my lost power, to the last drop. I must hope that centuries of unemployment and neglect has dulled the sharp edges of my brothers, like abandoned blades.

Only then can I set aside my mountain and embrace my feather.

So, it seems now is the winter of our discontent. Or at least, this is winter quarters, where a warrior feels the fear more greatly than at any other time. This lull between the campaign seasons where the world seems to draw a sharp breath in preparation for the work of the next year.

And it's a time for the sharing of secrets.

I'm reputedly a simple angel to work out. I have little verbal or mental cunning and I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve. Both of those for whom I deeply care do, I think, know of it - and I wouldn't have it any other way. Why lie about your feelings?

Well, some feelings are positive and light, whilst others are dark and negative. The love I've shared, I've done without guilt, because I fail to see how the world can be hurt by more love existing, and expressing it is the natural order of things. Some loves must remain unrequited, and that's also the natural order of things - but hidden love is the only mean kind. In my opinion, anyway.

The feelings I've hidden, though, I've buried deep. And I'm not the only one. I share a common problem with all my type, all my brothers, the Malhim. There is something deep inside me, some terrible dark seed, that seeks my destruction. It threatens to burst up out of me every time I fight, every time I fly. This desire for an impressive death in service to grand ideals. I'm not sure if it was built into us by design or is a hidden flaw that has come out with time - but each of my brothers has shared it, to a lesser or greater extent.

I still remember when my dearest companion, the one who fought always at my back as I fought at his, finally succumbed to his flaw. We were fighting on a tower, back to back as always, his axe and my sword. The enemy were piled around us and we were withdrawing to the roof, to make our escape. Not all assaults go well - ours had been blunted by strong defence, whilst others were enjoying more success elsewhere. We fought our way through the chambers, up stairways until we reached the ladder out.

Speed would be needed, so we argued mentally about who would hold the door. The truth was that I was stronger and he was faster, and he ground my nose in that truth until I relented. I would hold the door for five minutes while he rested, then he would take over whilst I climbed the ladder. Then he would use his speed to escape. We exchanged the best hug that time would allow under the circumstances and I retreated up the ladder. I never saw him again.

It might be thought that he simply succumbed under the greater numbers whilst I retreated, but I had seen the truth in his eyes. This was his moment, so great was our love for each other that he could see no finer death than to do so covering my escape. After the battle I found his hacked and mangled body a full floor down from the trapdoor - he'd fought his way back into the heart of them, and died from a spear thrust to the back. The place I should have been guarding had we still been together.

I was devastated at first, but the war allows little time for reflection. I ignored the truth of it, though it was staring me in the face. How many times did a brother pause to wish us all joy before folding his wings and dropping to some impossible and unnecessary fight? It was the one thing we never discussed in that marble hall. The one thing the others never accused us of. The truth we never faced.

I face it now. That same dark seed stirs in my breast. I have glorious dreams of somehow buying life for those I love with my own death. With it comes an end to the pain I feel when I contemplate 800 centuries of service to a Host that has rejected me - the only unrequited love, I think, that I have ever known.