Kingdoms rise, powers fall. Their glorious ascent, bathed in scarlet blood and the promise of a thousand stars, becomes but a shadow at the End, when their paltry light goes out, and they fall in an explosion of red, black, and dismal gray.
Again, and again...again...
Thus it was, and so it was always to be, yet the light of the Heavens seemed to shine cursedly bright upon the Overlords. From their rise on the outskirts of the Niathan highlands, these rulers swept down upon the continent, subduing village, farm, and citadel with words of hope, words of peace; words of blood, words of death.
These Streets I trod, so heavy laden
By secrets dark and grim
Those cursed tyrants, those blessed saviors. Both were said with equal fervor, whispered in prayer or spite around many a hearth during the long winter months and idle bodies made for active thoughts. Yet when spring came, it brought the birth of the world and the death of revolution. Each went back to his own task, accepting his lot under the overarching authority and nary a problem was seen. Even the plague seemed stymied by the greatness of the Overlords; medics remained baffled for centuries to come at the sudden dormancy of that great pestilence, the inescapable scourge. The equalizer of men.
These Words, they burn across my mind
How long can they be hid?
And so, how does one live in the shadow of the gods, those ascended beyond the realm of men?
Some, they are the Rememberers. Holding on to memories of the ancient times, they live with outward acceptance and loyalty, yet all the while the smouldering embers of an unyielding pride burn inside them. They are conquered, but never broken.
These dark Shadows are my friends
Some, they are the Ageless. Days pass as seconds, a year is naught but a blink. Of what matter is the supremacy of a king, a man, an Overlord? Although rarely moved, their general apathy makes their wrath, their sorrow, that much worse to behold. Blessed are those who show them kindness, and a thousand times cursed is he who hurts their chosen friends.
Since dawn of ancient time
Some, they are Leaves. Tossed about by the winds of the world, they follow their chosen path, fulfilling their purpose and gently falling into the dust of history with the changing seasons. One of many, they are overlooked, counted only as a part, not a whole. Even so, the tree must never forget that without each little leaf, he is left to wither for eternity. Mighty is the leaf, if they are awoken to see it.
All Bonds they break, all truth they bend
Some, they are the Obliterated. Through malice or truth, they are maligned or exposed, tossed from mouth to mouth as a source of evil. Wronged by the world, these few do not suffer the same illusions of the others. They are hurt; they are alone; they are desperate, but this makes them powerful. Too often these single souls are not enough to change an empire, bring down mountaintops. But when they succeed, they rattle the stars.
This power, it is mine.
In the end, who can say: are these few enough to take on the Overlords? Indeed, it would seem that is not even their intent. What is the vague matter of the world when there is pride to be defended, death to be avenged, memories to be cherished, secrets to be hid? If it is fate, then they must. As ordained by the stars, they stand and fight a war no one would own. If not, then they may just be stubborn enough to do it anyways.
These Streets I trod, so heavy laden
By secrets dark and grim.
These Words, they burn across my mind
How long can they be hid?
These dark Shadows are my friends
Since dawn of ancient time
All Bonds they break, all truth they bend
This power, it is mine.