So many things have happened since my last entry that I struggle to decide what to include. Heh.
The previous entry is gone, and good riddance to it.
At the last, do I admit…? No. Those who know, know. Those who guess, or ask, or wonder, can continue to do so. It is not in my nature to openly admit my nature.
Rather than continue the narrative as I left it, it seems more fitting to paint with broad strokes. After all, this is most probably an exercise in vanity. The likelihood of anyone from those days encountering this who does not already know it and actually cares is infinitestimal.
And yet.
…
Broad strokes it shall be. If even a single person expresses interest, I can expand or expound as seems fitting.
Perhaps I even will.
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So, then. When I left off, we had defeated the Red Lemon Empire, and completed the Purging of the North, with the only surviving settlement in the vicinity being the ancient ruins of Foghaven, somehow still standing.
After that? Well, we looted the place, of course, and after sacrificing most of the loot to the local water spirits and dragging the high-value items back to the stockpile of Foghaven, we rested.
For longer than anticipated.
Upon our return… there was a settlement built upon the ruins of Hillside Tavern by the name of Garhapsted. This displeased us. It burned.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
There was a nearby settlement called Babylon, to which many of the inhabitants fled. They attempted to parlay with us, but grew angry when we took sustenance from their stockpile. They fought. They perished. Their town burned.
The inhabitants of Garhapsted, it turned out, had been building a castle, nestled in the lower reaches of the Dark Forest, to which they fled. Upon scouting it, we observed that it could be closed in by the application of a single cunningly-positioned block of stone. After looting their stockpile and dazing many of them, we made it so, and condemned them to starvation in the prison they had made for themselves.
Subsequently—
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No. This is too slow.
Forget the play-by-play, and the foreplay. Skip to the good parts.
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The Creator had published a blueprint to creating a universe. Upon perusal of it, I was able to divine the obscured True Name of His Avatar, and seize control of it.
Using His indefatigable vessel, I undertook to search for Valhalla in Gods Glade, the home of the gods themselves.
But my spirit, which animated it, was not indefatigable; and as I searched, the approbation only grew: would the Creator, or one of the other gods, notice my use of his Avatar? Alongside it, the temptation: how much damage could I do, if I were to unleash its power?
At first I sought ivory, but even gods can be wounded, and thyme is scarce in winter. Then I thought it over, and laughed: what need had I of better weapons, when I could simply stab twice as many times?
It was the simplest of things to extort weaponry from a tiny settlement in return for sparing them.
After that, I corrupted His appearance to be as Death, quoted the Apocalypse, and got to work.
> And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.
I should have quoted the Bhagavad Gita.
⁂
As it turned out, I was able to slay exactly one quarter of the population before my own mortal shell became tired and I had to stop for food. When I returned to my work, it was to find that the Maintainer had discovered my perfidy, and conducted perfidy of Her own. The Avatar was now rendered all but useless— anyone with the requisite knowledge could render it disabled for a prolonged period with but a thought.
The following day, scouring the blueprints of the world, I found the hidden planar coordinates of Gods Glade.
And, exclaiming out loud, I was overheard.