There is a certain idea that has taken hold amongst anchorites of all sorts (arboreal, enduned and alpinic) in the last centuries. The idea that the world has already ended and what we see and experience now is merely the last shuddering breaths of the Universal Corpse. The Timid Scholar, Wenscelaus, describes it thusly; "Just as when the soul parts flesh and leaves behind the moribund corpse to Rot and Decay, thus the Universe has been divested of Its 'EAU DE VIE', Its lifeblood and we are left to merely corpse. Examining the Blessed Histories of our ancestors reveal lives lived in quite different conditions, with only the rarerest and most delicate of conflicts nurtured by their undending pastoral splendor, and none of the all-encompassing wars of our time that ruin land and nations. In our decrepit Age the smoke of cities burning competes quite skillfully with the heavy plumes of our constant companions, those newborn vulcans that dot and cross the jaundiced plains, squalling and squawking molten lava with nary a notice. And that is to speak nothing of the Mother Ocean, who in a brighter age tasted as sweet as wine and looked as clear as glass. Now She retreats from our ancient shores, Her body tasting of brine and chalky white. And Her husband, the Sky storms ceaseless with bitter rains and moody clouds, only reluctantly revealing the swollen and baleful red eye of the Daystar. To those who balk at these apocalyptic notions, who cast skepticism on the Blessed Histories I only say 'Take a deep breath and a long look. Can you say for certain that it has not ended already?'"