1 Work by Fargle
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"But then," and the words have become a conspiratorial whisper in his ear, filled with dark humour that Clive has no hope of understanding, "Why must we accept it? Why, when so very much aether is gathered here? This moment, this very breath, weeps with the stolen strength of centuries. Why permit such wicked destiny to claim whatever time remains for itself when it has made things all so simple? After all, if someone merely knew what they were doing, even the slightest push in the right direction…"
After the battle, at the end of it all, there is a stranger.