Community Manager of TRGNetwork, site admin/developer.

Originally posted Feb. 11, 2011.

There are few times when I linger enough to doubt myself. I claim no reason for this habit other than it being born of my father, a man who doted little on things outside of necessity. And yet from time to time I think of things outside myself that are troubling, and find myself targeting their origin. Once, there was a time when I thought each action stemmed from a rational thought, but I have so many times been confronted with the irrational that I have come to accept in my third decade that life is simply chaotic, it is the mortals and willing immortals that attempt order.


The Light is the comfort in all this, with its connection to all. When I write of life's chaos, I speak of the nonsensical grasps at power, and the Politik of houses that have always eluded me. They are not unlike wrestling power from the battlefield in terms of strategy, but each manuver is performed through two-timed word: words mean one matter at the surface, and something dark and self-serving beneath. I have no taste for it, and I never will.


I write this during a night spent in Stormwind, a stay often done very little on my part. Stormwind is not the foremost front in the battle against Deathwing, and the cult that has suddenly come to worship him. I still question all the ties between an aspect of death and a cult that till now, only worshiped the Old Gods. Perhaps my questions are better answered in the library of Ironforge, for it seems that for every cultist we catch, the fewer know real answers for the Templars to chase.


For such a late hour, there are many knocks at the door. I will forgo sleep tonight, in lieu of more satisfying things. I find that my mind is rarely at rest when there is still a chase afoot. And chase you, cultists – I will.

Author Ari
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