“The wall is high, higher than anyone ever knows,” the old man chuckled to himself, “but what they never tell you is that there are very few things in this world that are truly impossible. Instead, rather, the vast majority of what seems impossible to us usually only looks so because of our mortally finite amount of time and resources. But with enough resources and time, anything is possible.”

“Pffft, no shit sirrah,” huffed the youth, “Bet that’s easy for you to say, old timer. Even you mychorrzians outlive the average tall-man. I can work my ass off to come up with the resources needed to start makin’ moves, and by the time I might actually have the money I’ve already got one foot in the grave, meanwhile you and those damn knife-ear’d elves wouldn’t have seemed to age a day! We tall-men are always at the bottom because we just can’t compete! Sure, maybe some of the wizards up in their high towers and convents might have cultivated some sutra or incantation to buy themselves more time, but those techniques aren’t exactly the kinda thing that trickle down to the public.” Indignant heat tinged his pale cheeks a flush pink as the youth stared into the face of the old man seated on the prison floor across from him on the other end of the small chess board. Weathered and creased with innumerable lines, he was old for a mychorrzian, (or at least, for any of the mychorrzians the youth had seen before,) and the flaxen hair-like gills of the underside of the inverted mushroom cap that sprouted from just above the bridge of his nose showed it.

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“That may be true,” he rasped thoughtfully,”but at the end of the day, elves and dwarves and orcs and even you tall-hearts and us mychorrzians-, at the end of the day we’re all still the sons of the First men. We birth the same, we breathe the same, and we bleed the same. Though the elves may have been changed by the kenotic gods of old to be more naturally gifted when it comes to matters of longevity and thaumaturgy, it is in that same human blood that runs within us all Lord Zurvan’s qi flows. It is for that reason, that just as for better or worse there can never be such a thing as a truly unique thought, there is also no such thing as a truly unique spell or sutra that can not be cracked or reproduced given the time and dedication. Ever since the fashioning of this world through Lord Zurvan’s cardinal concupiscence time has always followed after desire and dedication; time and resources, they alone should be no cause for worry. The catch is rather, knowing hen to hold your hand and knowing when to fold. Like the old sages say, “the wall is high, higher than anyone ever knows.” Knowing, or rather, having now at least heard all this now, in this world of dueling desires, do you still dare to aim for the top?”