Banestorm - Through the Fire

Spring, I assume 1942

A still water stretches out, eternally from my consciousness. Wen-Jien brought me this gift of meditation, perhaps sensing the struggle within me. Instead of a burning hatred, I simply dislike this place, this prison where I shall be kept for a year and a day. Simple, manageable, dislike. Sahud has become nothing more to me than a buzzing fly which, for now, I choose not to crush.

Wen-Jien, is an adequate teacher. H does remind me of the vapid despicable Nimblefingers. A fitting end he and Stampford received; souls ripped into jars to suffer eternal boredom. Their transformations will be a day of celebration when I liberate this world from the injustices of feudalism.

I return to still water and the soothing memories of Pachelbel and the Quartadec Philharmonic.

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Monsewer

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