Role

Chapter 15

Gren is... tired.

So very tired.

It will nuh be long now.
As Gren sits here in chambers of Black Sect, must answer question strange
elf asked Gren all those years ago. Would do differently? Would have
changed last 500 years if could?

Nuh. Gren proved them all wrong. Gren surpassed sorry excuses for artists
that turned Gren away all those years ago. Gren became mighty force for
sect. Gained marked acknowledgement of greatest Artist in Thera. Inspired
many. Brought art to many. Rose to greatest highs and fell to the lowest of
Gren. All scorn repaid and more.
But... Gren is so tired. Gren fears going to sleep and nuh awaking. That
nuh end for Gren. Gren's end will be as all Gren's ends have been. Triumph
until Gren falls!
Gren's hands ache. Gren must pen these words while can.

Gren call it weariness.

We hunger yet, for words untold
Our passion burns like fire;
Yet day by day, fight by fight,
We do begin to tire.

The mind is sharp, the arm is strong
But time does take its due;
It shall not bring us low quite yet,
Though years they do grow few.

At edge of sight where shadows hide
In corners of the eye;
Inch by precious inch it crawls,
The dark before we die.

An ache not quite a physical thing
The knowledge of the end;
We will not die a peaceful death,
A massacre to send.