All men are born condemned, so the wise say. All suckle the breast of Death. All bow before that Silent Monarch. That Lord in Shadow lifts a finger. A feather flutters to the earth. There is no reason in His song. The good go young. The wicked prosper. He is king of the Chaos Lords, His breath stills all souls. We found a city dedicated to His worship, long ago, but so old now it has lost t