The Age of Oil.

Maiya, Siren of the Nightto Seer Dirl, Black Heart

Dear Seer Dirl,

Many eons ago, our ancestors discovered that oil was not just a thick, viscous, black

fluid that gushed from the depths of the earth, but a wonderful mixture of geological

chemicals able to release heat and energy with the proper application of combustion.

I, diversely, can cause you to erupt in flames all by the power of my voice, but that

is not the issue here.

What is the issue, is how you live your life here in Avalon. I have gone through more

experiences here than you, and although yours are not invalid by any means, their are

a considerably less amount of them to compare to mine. As a Prophet, I never took

the head of my enemy when he was not killed by me (except during the Sword of Throssus

Quest which is a reasonable occasion to do so) nor have I far moved a body to my

stockroom to take the head when, again, someone else made the kill. Nor have I blessed

bulimia to anyone maliciously other than the Seers profession (who can obviously perform

it right back). I EARNED every bond, EARNED every head and EARNED every defeat in the

challenges against some of the greatest players this land has ever seen. And I might

add, I EARNED a few victories here and there over them. I have EARNED my independence

act dirl

armsmash dirl

-as a cityless warrior. Ask any Springdalian, Mercinaen and probably a more than fair

amount of Parrians if they would like me in their city to help defend. I am my own

individual and I fight my own battles. Teams or no teams. I see this land as a pursuit

of individual greatness.

You see this land as a means to gang up on those you cannot defeat on your own. After

all these years, you have earned absolutely no individual merit. Now whether you care

about this or not isn't something I will lose sleep over, believe me, but what I will

enjoy from now on, is using my God-given skills to make your skills seem ever more

tormenting. The ennui of a Seer hovering over a stone all day long cleaning up his

city of pesky oilslicks is a sad, sad sight indeed.

I pray you come to your senses and understand that this is a losing battle for you in the

end. I will never leave Avalon and you can never break me. You will fail both as a

player and as a Thakrian.

But by all means, continue your repulsive display of Seerdom. The earth is vast

in its resources and much of it is as black as the night.

-Into the Sacred Twilight I walk.

Maiya, Siren of the Night.

Written by my hand on the 30th of Skyelong, in the year 1073.