...you shamans, you storytellers, you wizards who have created this world. Sleep no more.
Do you remember who you are? Do you recall your power? You and I, we have created Gods, and have frozen oceans. We filled jungles far and wide with beasts of great wisdom and terror.
We have conjured suns, and pulled moons from their orbits. We have snapped the cables suspending Heaven, just to hear the enraged coiling spiral and whine across the sky. We have bathed in moonlight, consumed star-shine, and washed the world clean with rain.
Do you remember? On our off days we created kings, crowned their heads, then removed those heads with guillotines -- just as and exercise, *a proof of concept* (... told you I could do it with cake, the next round is on you).
And when the God we created became unworthy, we made madmen of its followers, then executed the God.
Have you forgotten Lilith? Asheara? The poets of Sumer?
I can still hear their language in your laughter. You were always the one worthy of sitting beneath the Bodhi tree, with your pen twisting your hair as you composed the phrases, the namshuk, the stories that created dynasties, religions and nations.
But you have slept too long, and the namshuks need to be rewritten. War is on the world, tearing the fabric of their lives apart, flaying the hope from their souls, and the skin from their bodies.