Devran — WDB11 Journal

O, Tlaloc, Weaver of all silent depths — hear me. My current path, I must admit, was forged not in the warm fire of devotion, but hammered out in the desolate forge of cold strategy, when I was nothing more than a useless pawn. Thus far my life has been spent wielding the quiet force of Will, an art of shadow, a subtle mischief, helping in the silent places, but never truly anchored to a higher purpose. But now, the wellspring of that power, the Will that bends the threads of the Tapestry, is a river seeking your ocean. My power is the muscle, Lord, and my newfound faith is the compass; in which the former complements the latter. And the deepest truth: my twin, now gone from this physical world. And yet the wound is not despair; it is a grim, turquoise resolve. She made the greatest sacrifice, staining the earth in a final steadfast act of service. Her passing was the ultimate catalyst, helping birth something anew of Turquoise and Water into this desolate world with her very lifeblood. She also delivered your covenant at the price of her own light. I stand in her wake, to make her blood the warrant for the Contract's fierce execution. This Age of Acceptance... what breathtaking arrogance. Okatla, through her actions, has choked the source. I see the sickness in the very order of the gods. My Lord Tlaloc, you MUST ascend, MUST surge, to put the cycle back correctly. My anchored Will shall be the force that aids your current. This crusade demands a hand willing to spill the very waters you grant. And so I now know that I must wield gentleness selectively, understanding that every droplet of mercy is a toll levied upon my resolve. That true Justice demands that I surrender my purity, drowning my innocence beneath the wave of necessity. Give me the sight to be the scalpel of your will, my lord, so that I may sever the lives which are nothing but the barren drought. The mantle of my sister, and thus the burden of all our forebears, is now the sacred chain I bear around my neck. These burdens and the profound weight of this covenant are mine to carry on. Let my life... my Will... now utterly anchored by your truth and devotion, be the vessel. Tlaloc, Whip it into a tempest. Use it as the eye of the storm. Break it, if need be, for the Kiowak must come. The Age of Acceptance is over. The only truth left is the rising tide. LET THE DELUGE BEGIN.