A Draught of Cold Water: A Pamphlet to the Empire of Man

[ryno2 1285]

 

Spoiler

Transcript: 

 

Addressed to the current Empire, and its Emperor, Hadrian:
 

Word has arrived that the Grand Kingdom is no more, its stones torn down by the hands of a large Imperial host.
 

For this achievement, I extend my congratulations to you, Emperor. It may surprise you, but you and I now share a title: Conqueror of Urguan. Although, my people induced them to surrender, whereas yours merely struck them and forced them to scatter. At any rate, I am not surprised that your kin have laid the Khazadmar so low; rather that it took so long for such a feat to be repeated since the dawn of Kaz'Ulrah and the Empire of Man, nearly five hundred years past. 
 

I took up arms to destroy the old Grand Kingdom under the Arcadians, but so too did I take up arms to create this one, nurtured it in its youth, fed it and toiled over it and bled for it. 
 

And yet I am not so disheartened by its destruction. Humans, with your short lives, you cling to the flags of your fathers and die with their words on your breath, and in the span of your whole lives you may see one great war, perhaps two; the horizons of your minds stretch no further than the bounds set by your houses. But we Dwedmar live long, long enough to fight beneath more than one flag, for more than one purpose, gain some perspective. We see not just wars, but the patterns of wars, the rise and fall of nations, those of the other descendants as well as our own. We observe these great movements of peoples, as a mountain watches a river bend, coil, and change its shape, over decades and centuries; one day the river may change its flow, bend and scrape against the base of the mountain, and carry off a few stones, but in time the river doubles back again and stretches far into the plain.
 

For the Dwedmar I am not concerned. Even a mountain may be shattered by a great tide, but wherever its stones are laid to rest, the seeds of new mountains are sown. 
 

My people believe in Yemekar's Balance. I recall when it was used to attempt to counter the great human empires of the past and prevent the very thing you have managed to create. For myself, I see it now as the balance between life and death, the wheel of time slowly turning; all things share the same fate, great and small, grand or imperial. We are born, we live, and we die, even the old ones; we create and are created from nothing, we return to nothing, and our works return to nothing. For my people, we may watch our works fail and crumble to dust, but have enough time to build them up again, improve them, perfect them; our fate is much delayed.
 

For your Empire I feel a measure of pity. For humans, whatever you may accomplish in your rushed life, the curse of Khorvad yet remains; the Empire may be strong now, but even as the Imperial host marches home, knives are being sharpened within your own halls, waiting to carve up the slumbering dragon. The wyrms that remain after the feast are likewise doomed, by blades that have not yet been shaped, by hands that have only just begun to grow in the womb. The hands that tore down the banners of the Grand Kingdom are the same that will, in time, double back and tear down those of the Empire.
 

For this reason I simply say - enjoy your victory, revel in it, as long as you still can.
 

The pamphlet is signed, Grudgebeard

 

[Random 1690]

“Shadows of the past, rambling on about their long-forgotten glories and humanity’s curse, when so little remains of their own legacy.” Adûnakhôr dismissed the missive after having come across it in Rittersburg, briefly skimming through it before abandoning it where he had found it.

[Werew0lf 24179]

“The losers always seem to mention our short lives. If your only chance of victory is to await our death, that is quite embarrassing — what purpose do you have for living a long, fruitful life if you cannot use those experiences to win? You were bested by men with a quarter of your lifespan.”

 

”The Empire will never fall to the hands of dwarves. It will only fall to the hands of men. Your people will traverse the realm, pouting, much as the high elves do, about how they can ‘wait their time’ until the imperium falls.”

 

”Wait your time silently, you are all weak.” The Emperor rambled to himself, clutching the paper.