The snow fell gently, in a manner so calm that the effect was unsettling to the nerves. In a manner so calm, yet a brooding purpose lie behind this peaceful scene. Through the falling walls of snow the Kirk, a dark building loomed in the distance, casting a pale gloom on the land around it, standing solely as a monument of a forgotten and neglected past. Nearby, the waves of the northern sea crashed softly on the shores, and a boat creaked and groaned as it floated, tethered against its will to the land. Before it, and the old building, there was a gathering of men.

Here was a group who despite their differences, came together as a single entity. They were of all kinds and principles, some good, some evil. Some virtuous, and some dark. They came not for companionship or desire to bond, but out of respect for the coming departure. For, though many of them were not friends in life, they were indeed guided by a single spirit.

One man was clothed in brown robes, the garbs of a monk. "My lord," he said, "Must this be? Why do you go?"

The lord carefully watched the seas and responded, "Brother Christof, I cannot bear to stay in these lands any longer. This shard of Sosaria, Napa Valley, it is my home, but it is dead. Wayward wizards and misguided gods bring false hope to Britannia, and I will not be here when the land is torn from its very spirit. I cannot continue to stay here and cling to a dead past, and this is why I must seek my destiny elsewhere. Napa Valley is indeed my home, and will always be my home. Though I may leave, my heart will forever remain here."

A blacksmith came forward. "But you will just desert the land? You can't expect a kingdom to build itself. People must build it!" He pounded his fist into his other open hand, a gesture and attitude fit for a crafter such as himself.

But the lord replied, "And who will build it, Valus? Who will build the kingdom of Britannia once the spirit of Sosaria has been ripped asunder? Who will defend the Virtues and not merely practice them for benefits? Who will strike at evil because it is, and not for a reward from the so-called Commander of the Royal Guard, that fool Kyeric? And who will build the kingdom when we are all too busy dancing to the whimsical music of gods?"

"So what?" said a warrior, donning a dark red cape a worn bandana. "What is virtue, anyways? What more is there to nature than conflict, and battle? Life is a battle. You fight your way from the womb, endure battle after battle throughout life, and then one day, you will inevitably lose to death itself. What difference do these coming days make, lord? They will not change the way you handle your sword. They will not change your convictions to these virtues. So I ask you, what difference does it make?"

And the lord replied, "Pikeman, my strange old friend, your chaotic origins belie the deeper truth within you, one which you have struggled to understand throughout your troubled life. For we are humans, and are more than just skin and bones. Nay, we have souls, and so too does the world itself have a soul. This world was once alive and vibrant, and you know all too well what I mean. You see life as an endless battle because all that was of Sosaria is gone, and lost its meaning to you. Soon, everyone else will see it your way. Soon everyone will behold life in Britannia as a meaningless adventure, or a tired old play. In that case, my friend, perhaps you are right."

A fisherman spoke up. "Milord, not all the spirit of Sosaria is gone! Ye can still have grand adventures. Evil still intrudes upon Britannia. There are still treasures to be found under the sea; still mysteries to be uncovered!"

The lord spoke bitterly, "What treasures, Captain Ramius? Speak you of the same useless trinkets found in chest after chest? Speak you of mysteries and gruesome monsters brought forth by the gods themselves to entertain the growing legion of glowing warriors? No sir... life is about chance, and destiny. Life is about expectations, hard work, and surprise. Happiness, sadness, dire omens and hope. Not planned events. Not arranged wars. Adventures aren't built, they are happened upon."

Just then an old wizard seemed to appear from through the snow. "What precisely do you hope to find? What will you find across the chaotic seas that you cannot find in Britannia? There is no place else like Sosaria."

Said the lord, "Such is truth, Majisto. But, perhaps hope in Sosaria is not completely loss. Perhaps other shards of Sosaria will have what it is I seek. Perhaps other worlds, beyond Sosaria will have it. I don't know. I can't know. But what I do know, is that if I remain here, my life, and my sanity, will unravel until I am no longer the man you know now. It will unravel because there is no truth to this world that I can bind myself too. There is nothing coherent or lasting in Sosaria. The world has and will change so drastically, and I with it."

Just then a dark figure emerged from the vague scenery, a figure draped in a robe with his face hidden under the cowl. He spoke in a harsh whisper that reflected years of personal suffering. "Was there ever truth, 'lord'? What are the Virtues but the pleasant inventions of a mad mage? What is magic but the unpredictable force that sends us spiraling beyond sound truth? And what is truth in the natural world, where nothing is constant? You run from change because you cling to the past... because you cannot accept the reality of nature. You will always be running, seeking what is forever lost, lost in time not to false gods, but nature itself. You fight the inevitable."

The lord sneered at the words of the dreadful spectre before him. "Oh, Grimm... you lost soul. You say nothing is constant in the natural world, yet you discount change itself as the constant. Yes, change is inevitable, sad ghost, but now that change is corrupt. The spirit that once guided it, the spirit of Sosaria, the spirit of the tales of Ultima is shattered like the gem that holds Sosaria itself. Now how will this world change? For better? For worse? Aye, change it will. But will it remain the land I once knew and love? Or will it fall under the shadows of other worlds? Consider that, Grimm."

A harsh wind at that moment blew from the sea, and the tillermen on the boat, the Carrier of Virtue, called out through the resounding silence. The time was right. It was time to depart.

Once more Christof spoke, in a sad manner, "My lord, what will you do? Where will you go?"

Said the lord, "My greatest friend, I do not know. I can't say where I will find myself, or what fate has in store for me. You may see me in the future, in different places on different shards or in different worlds, and while my appearance may vary, my alignment with the Virtues questionable, and my allegiances unclear, you will find me, always and ever, with the spirit that guides this gathering even now. My time has come, friends and enemies. It is time to go."

The lord boarded the ship, now a blurry figure behind a veil of falling snow overlooking the land. The shoreline had now become a dividing point between the lord and Britannia, between the past and the future. Everything suddenly seemed so far away, and he yearned to go back, to get off the boat and embrace his home once more, however a stern, almost cruel conviction kept him grounded. His loyal servant Christof stood before the gathering and held forth his hand in respect for his departing lord.

"Farewell, friends. Farewell, Britannia. May the Virtues guide thy path. Until next time we meet, farewell."

Though unheard, Christof spoke silently. "Fare thee well, Lord Deraj."

Deraj the Paladin
Valus Steelguarde the Blacksmith
Pikeman the Warrior
Christof the Monk
Captain Ramius the Fisherman
Lord Majisto the Wizard
Grimm the Ghost

bye