Atalist's Dungeon

A distant drumming, the sound of ancestral call. It pulses in my veins, stirring in me something very powerful... and proud. It rings true to my ancestry. We survived, otherwise I would not be here. We were tough and strong and beautiful. In the moments of life, my family was fragile by their mortality, not by their will and determination. It is a beautiful thing to think of the long line of people who got me here. Just by existing. My life has meaning to the epitaph of my family. To go on, to continue our name.

old friends heal old wounds. I am not who I used to be, but something more. Divinity and meaning come more from just words, it comes from spontaneous re-occurance. A conversation here and a laugh there. Fond memories...