Exodias Demorian Entry ??
Why?
What a marvelous word, to be given a symbol in which to apply to a question. Why.
Tonight I caught myself gazing up into the stars. Perhaps this eve I only asked more questions than I answered. Once again the empryean lights above could would not relinquish their secrets. No revelation was found, that is why here I put down my thoughts for later revision.
Epiphany has a way of eluding you until you find it in the oddest places.
Aside from wondering the place and purpose that we do or do not serve in this verse my only interruption from finding said adumbration between the stars was from a filthy elf. I was caught in their eye and they began to romanticize my existence. I could tell from the the tintinnabulation in their disgusting eyes.
Was it because I am forsaken and looking up to the skies as if I was remembering some lost lover? A past life that I longed to posses once again? Blessed be my skills of flicking insects. That drove her off well enough. What I would give to disembowel a Death Knight and liberate all their Blood Maggots for future use.
But in that moment of her fleeting presence that fled from me with the same amusing look any living would give the dead I found myself farther parted from them.
I often contemplate just what they do. How interesting and evanescent their lives are at times.
They seek many things that only the living would enjoy. Power, money, prestige, items, glory, love, joy, happiness.
Yet they fall so short in anything truly fulfilling to their lackluster souls. It is all vanity in conclusion.
Why? Why would they pursue such thing? In the end it all amounts to nothing. You can not take those things beyond with you, no matter how much you write down in books with stories. Becoming hopelessly elated with touching thought.
Nothing is truly achieved. Life itself is so meaningless. Sure, they could try to immortalize you and what you've done in tablets and stone. Time will only erode it away, even it will forget you. Discarded you will be, as is the destiny of living.
This verse seems strange. Constantly moving, changing, never ceasing to churn in the crucible that cradles existence. Is that a flaw? Why? Why does it even do so. By creation or by circumstance has no one ever stood beside themselves and truly looked? Then asked only the most natural question. Why?
A fruitless inquiry perhaps. Though no matter what I always repudiate it. Only the brazen fool would say to cease and desist. Then again the brazen fool was always to drunken in his own revelry or lack of care.
There is something that is out there is this cosmos. The Titans know it, the Old Gods tap it and we the insignificant and abandoned overlook it. Disillusioned am I at points, so distraught with the hand that has been dealt, what a lie to be fed. If we were even fed at all. It was only in my death that I found how much I despised my mortal coil and understood just how fragile I was.
This verse that has made me was trying to change me. For what? Not because it had a plan, not because there were dispicable fiends out there trying to obliterate what I have become slowly despondent of.
Because. That was it.
How insipid. I have become thankful that the plague has stripped my illusion of being and brought me so scathingly close to my end. Because of it, I stand on the precipice of oblivion and only the dim witted would say that it stares back and pontificates something or another that equates to droll.
No. I see stars. I see somthing hidden behind a veil, it radiates some warmth. The Vein of Creation I call it. Coveted it is. The Titans wield it and use it to give birth unto worlds. What an astonishing thing. Breath taking and sweeping.
Such a thing would be for imbecile to easy attach to madness. For that I am thankful as well. What a gift it is for the world to be prancing to the brim with idiots. They will leave alone unless shaken. Sure, a few will preach to me how I wish to achieve godhood, I let them. It changes nothing. Another simple extrapolation from the mind that is living and the heart that still beats. Another concept that they have surmised. I discard it. Gods are mortal and silly things to be called or even to try and achieve. What a preposterous notion and concept.
I care not to rule, let societies play their child games of pretend and hand themselves with an extravagant bow over to those they deem authority.
No. I seek something far greater. To unravel the cosmos and see just what is beyond it. To what it is made of. Holding with these rotting hands something truly worthy of being deemed precious. Something that is permanent in a universe that constantly changes, to be outside the cycle as so very few are. The crucible itself.
Why? For the same reasons the verse has deemed myself.
Because. That is it.