Role

Chapter 1

When people talk of fear, it is so easily quantified for most.

Ask what one of the lesser kin, those elves of the Darsylon provinces might
fear, and a litany I could declare. All quaint things, of course. Small
meaningless fears for those chained by the bonds of moral guidance, the
death of pragmatic progress and the enemy of advancement everywhere.

Perhaps one or two might name a thing of note, a thing to fear in truth.
Statistically, this is probable. But the vast majority will doubtless
labour beneath the dread of small things to satisfy smaller minds.

But then, fear is such a tepid thing. A man may fear the rain. May fear he
will be late. May fear all manner of meaningless trivialities. Certainly, I
have feared many unimportant things in my life.

So let us dispense with fear.

Let us talk of terror.

Now that's much harder. Terror is a word with weight. With purpose. With
implication. A man might fear the rain... but terror?

That's something else. Terror keeps you up at night, that sour and most
dread promise that sleep shall be no salvation. That the insidious poison
that has crawled into your mind will not spare your dreaming slumber.

Hold a person's terror, and you control them. You will be ever in their
thoughts. Ever a long shadow within which they walk.

But really, dear reader. There is only one thing which can inspire such
dread in the enlightened mind.

There is but one possible seed for that most malign malaise.

It is the knowing of a thing you cannot forget.

And that most awful wondering, in a place between helplessness and hope:

What can I do?