To become an Imperial scholar in the Realm at the Crossroads is to embrace a life of verbal guile and truth spinning. Their legion of berobed charlatans will say that the gods are immortal. They, from their fortresses and cathedrals, will shout it down upon us, even as they lash the whip and shake the tax coffer.
Indeed, that is the Imperium’s lot in our land, forged in a deal struck in some twixtworld void, centuries ago. The Imperium would be armed with divinely-gifted power. In turn, they would shoulder the burden of caretaking the lies which stemmed from the highest sources.
'Gods are immortal'. 'Man and meerlok alike, all Realmkin are weak'. Pah! To them, we're one and each flesh and bone servants to the divine masters on their mountain.
And these aren’t children’s tales like Young Master Fisherman or The Toad Maiden. They are the honest-to-rightness beliefs of the Imperium, penned in blood and sung with steel.
But we are wiser than these blasted Imperial spuriosities.
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We, dear folk, my fellows and fairmaids of the Crossroads, know better. Do we not?
Just so! For we keep the memory of Wompy alive! United in purpose, we keep the flame of his legacy burning through time.
Wompy, who came to us from afar!
Wompy, who threw Stones against the Prelates!
Wompy, whose deft hand proved that gods were not immortal when he cleaved Kazik Skorn in twain!
Yes, Wompy’s departure marked the end of the Age of Beta. And darkness followed.
Lo! But steel yourselves, dear folk!
For I have heard upon the winds that a new age dawns! An era that brings more travelers from afar! They will fall upon the Crossroads like a swarm, but not a swarm of pestilence — one of justice! A torrent of vengeance, gnashing teeth upon the Imperium and their divine masters!
The Time of Launch is here, Realmkin! I have seen its arrival, and heard its machinations in my scryings! The travelers return to us, and with righteous Stones, these heroes drive before them the hope of freedom, as a drummer drives forth a mighty host!
I tell you this: Rejoice, dear folk, for soon the gods will die!
— Wirgil Archedemus the Questgiver, Prophet, Year 1 B.L.