A grumpy old muse resents his de-mothballing.

[thassarian]

So, how long has it been? Years, now?

Maybe I just want to keep to myself, have you thought about that? The alternative...it never ends well.

Comments

[thassarian]

I--don't know, yet.

[a smile] Somewhere troublesome, I'm sure.

[deadelfwalking]

'Troublesome' is a gentle word for my current predicament.

[thassarian]

[a shadow passes across his face]

Do you need help?

[deadelfwalking]

It is a place of war ... but the battles are few and far between. [he shakes his head.] Our shared curse--the pain--it constantly threatens to overwhelm me. Drive me to madness.

[thassarian]

[quietly] We'll never be done with war, will we?

[deadelfwalking]

We were made for it, brother. We cannot escape our original purpose, no matter how much we put it to a noble cause.

[thassarian]

Heh...yes. Aim us where you will, but we'll remain weapons.

Though I'm afraid I've gone rusty.

[deadelfwalking]

Given the range of possible fates here, I'm certain you'll be tempered again soon enough.