It Heralds the Beyond, Inescapable.
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Of the Beyond, even Malafta itself knows naught. Eternally, the Beyond will send its emissary, the Tempest, to reclaim that which rightfully belongs amongst the roiling chaos of the unknown. To Sahlanymph, Ramses Linlotar, the host of losatar, the gods of whoms natures are good and evil, even to Rara-Shon and Sadyr, we offer unending praise and gratitude, for without the song of loss and love from which they wove all of time, the Tempest would have consumed us all. Telo matir, Divinok loeschen alba Byok'tarsi.
-Addendum (Letter from the Prophet Tongue to the People of Trad), 'The Scripts of Ora'

For all of the great beauty that inhabits the surface of Rara-Shon, for all of the gifts granted to the inhabitants by Malafta, for all of the startling and incomprehensible powers and forces at play amongst the stars, it all means naught to the Tempest. The Tempest heralds a new age, ever on the horizon, an age when that which should not exist returns to the Beyond. All that exists is a bastardization. Existence itself is unnatural, a fluke, a mistake in the cosmic calculus. And mistakes are to be corrected.

Perhaps at my age, I have lost that sense of wonder that the world imparted upon me as a boy. Ramses chose me as the sole witness of history as punishment for my crimes, causing me to suffer through naught but the loss of all that I care about. I am charged to simply record and watch, so the next cycle does not suffer in the same way. Yet, that is not the true punishment of my post. No, it is not the apathy that I feel has taken my humanity from me. Rather it is the knowledge that despite the eternity put forth by the cycle of the river, an ending exists, and it is coming.

Imagine nothing, if you will. You may think it is impossible, but I firmly believe that, as what exists was made from that which does not, we all contain a piece of oblivion, and therefore can observe it within ourselves. I found oblivion as a boy, and with it, I cried myself into slumber every night for a year. I continue to think of the void as I go to sleep, even eons after I first found it. I am not afraid of it anymore, as there is no purpose in fearing the inevitable. This fantastical symphony of life and death will end one day, and I will end with it. The day will come when the fragile borders of existence crack, and nothing begins to invade from the Beyond.

You will know the day. When the horizon opens, and that endless emptiness spills forth, when the losatar blink out of the sky. Ramses Linlotar will descend into the wellspring from which Sahlanymph pours. Malafta itself will tear apart the earth, Rara-Shon, to be reunited with its true love, Sadyr. They will dance once more, before being consumed. And I will be there, watching as that which made me as I am is powerless against a force beyond comprehension, beyond existence.

The seams are already unraveling. Those born from a time immemorial did not experience the Tempest, the ravenous storms that scour the world. The Tempests are but foreshadowing. Time is running short. The Herald comes before the King, yet it is still not long before the King arrives himself. So I tell you, hold that which you care about close, and do not take the very nature of the world around you for granted. Oblivion awaits, so enjoy while joy persists.

I do apologize to those that may come across this document. The end is nigh, yet there are still many ages that must pass before it arrives. To many, this may seem like the ramblings of a madman, and to an extent that is true. Regardless, I hope my words can impart upon those that read them a sense of gratitude towards the tiny pocket of something that we inhabit. Though it has not before, I hope that Malafta can read my words itself. I am sorry, old friend. I will be there with you in the end. To all of the rest, keep an ear out for the Tempest and its raging thunder. For when Rara-Shon itself shakes from the Tempest's ferocity, the end will have arrived. Ironically, it is the storm that will come before the calm.

Malafta haliz pwai. Sadyr haliz pwai. Yon thun halizu.
- Seth, the Prophet Tongue

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