As I make study after conclusive study on the various peoples of this patchwork planet, I cannot help but notice gross similarities between the discrete groups of this Terminus. As an example, I call upon the Myr. Not as an example of how similar we are at present, but as one of how we might be, if not for our relatively good fortune. A similarity of spirit.

These teal terrors were designed to fight ancient foes, if their stories hold true. The Elven people were not so crudely fashioned; our Elven sense of propriety developed over time, rather than being (for lack of a better word) implemented. But, we cannot fault the Myr, for they were a wartime creation. Beings who have not yet had a chance to mature. They are, I think, as the spoiled fruit before the wine. If the Elven people had lost our tree, we would be in the same misanthropic state as are the Dark Myr – and I say Dark Myr, now, because with the stroke of this pen, I have come to understand why they affirm their darkness.

They are without their light, as we would be without our Tree.

It is a grim thought, and not one I care to dwell on.

But alas, what I see and hear of Myranity, on the overall, seems quite akin to a child being born and bred to a destiny, being literally praised on high for doing the one thing you're best at, then (and here's where it gets thankfully unrelatable) having your creator change your racial identity and die for the violation of personage, with one faction of your people being the murderers and t'other the faithful who loved the murdered. Imagine if your father sacrificed himself unsuccessfully to allow you to live, then your mother sacrificed herself to allow you to adapt to the new environment, then your father's favourite children killed your mother and ran off, leaving the mother's favoured children sitting in the lurch, with nothing, in a new place, with new limbs, new rules for movement, gravity - the list goes on - how would your people react? What would they need to do to get over that grief? 

I can, in a way, understand that rage inducing grief. Though we did not lose our home in a misguided act of sacrifice – our time of trials came as a result of hubris – if our Gods deigned to change the Elven people into naught but muscled brutes, I would feel a need to express a rage to our dear deities (who I know would never really do such a thing!) in the form of a fireball or two. I would not be alone, either – many of the Elven kind do not ascribe to any desire to be greatly different from who they are. I know I certainly don't. One does not cross the Elven people. We have long memories.

I wonder what we would be like if a faction of our people just broke off, murdered their creator, and left the larger group for want of a way back home. I wonder, further, what their home must look like, for all the land from their domain that came here.

I wonder what our old home must look like, overrun with demons, free from the gods.

I wonder, further, what is out there to discover? What pockets of wonder exist in this land? What is out there for me to discover? Will my nature change? Will I resent what I today love?

Dear Journal, the Dark Myr's darkness has touched me, and I fear for my light. I do not want the Ashen and Ember to sever contact. I would like the Elven people to continue as a whole unit, as one, as much as we can after the North's betrayal. The Dark Myr are a cautionary tale to any wary Elf. Beautiful, even graceful, but vicious, akin to some kind of predatory fish, and not to be crossed, for want of that which has been lost. 

The darkness, that willingness to guard your core history of sacrifice then bloodshed, as opposed to the Elves' bloodshed then sacrifice, is a sentiment I can understand, and would echo should someone threaten the Tree. It is something I can respect. It is something substantial, and which leaves, I pale to admit and only do so under this privacy, a knot deep in my gut that I can not abide. Yet, I must, for they are not partial to requesting help in either getting back to their home or seeking outside help to better their culture.

I wonder at what the halls of their gods were like. How it must have felt, being sung praise by the gods, having the very air vibrate with joy at your being and cry out with rapture upon your vision falling upon it.

I wonder what it must have been like to lose it all.

To say nothing of that being who watched it all happen. This "Ermos," who they so curse. Unfortunate for them that they would make a foe out of a people with nothing to lose. 

I must go. All of this wondering is leaving me in a dark place. I could use the company of my fellows, and perhaps a libation to ease the swallowing of these ponderings.

Until next time, I wish you all of us safekeeping.

Yours Sincerely,