....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................A map is floating on the wind of the darkness. A tattered page caught on the breeze of night. Does it bear a mark? Does it promise sight? Does it raise a phoenix from the ash, and a Hero dead to life? Time may tell, or may keep its secrets. Regardless, a map is floating on the wind of the darkness.

Your efforts were valiant, young adventurer. You fought bravely by the side of the finest warriors Castle Grayskull (no relation) could have hoped for. You took up arms, wielding sword and shield alongside the bravest warriors in Castle Grayskull (no relation)'s barracks. You lined the parapets, armored in the finest of wrought metals, prepared to spill loyal blood in the fight to defend Castle Grayskull (no relation). Alas, it was for nought.

Despite the valiant efforts of the bravest among them, Castle Grayskull (no relation) fell into darkness. Its magnificent walls, sturdy keep, and virtuous occupants, all were lost to the sea of shadow and night. Nought could be done to save them. Heroes do not exist. Armies are recruited to die. Plans are all victim to entropy. Nought could be done.

Be not ashamed, dead hero. Your efforts may have been for nought, but did you enjoy the journey? It was made especially for you. It was for you to enjoy and explore. Did you enjoy it? Fret not over the End. The End is inevitable. Nought could be done. Shed not a tear for the dead of Grayskull (no relation); there are none to catch your tears. Your emotion would be wasted on dust and bone. Darkness has overflown its borders, and consumes all. Succumb to the shadow, dear dead hero. It is all that is left for us.

Does that frustrate you? Sadden you? Why? We are but dust and bone, animated for a short time, before returning to our inert state. Do not cry for dust and bone. You muddle the dust, and make mud of your mind. Do not sully the memory with mud and mess, nor dishonor the bones with wasted grief. Let us return to our own, hand-in-hand, and sleep forever more under the cover of night.