Greetings all,
I take objection to something recently posted here and feel I am in a
unique position to voice my malcontent.

'How can you worship Change and watch a community throw themselves into
stasis?' - So asks the Huntsmaster, but I ask:

Does not the act of becoming undead represent a change in and of itself?
Does not the act of undergoing change open new possibilities and
options?
Does not the act of doing something new, never done before, constitute
change?

Where is the stasis to which you refer? Perhaps it is in failing to
experience the everyday changes that mortals must endure. No, we no
longer undergo many of these changes but that does not mean that we do
not undergo change. Where is the community to which you refer? For I see
city and wilderness at the heart of those words, not life or undeath,
certainly I do not see the advantage for change in them.
Neither minion of chaos nor fiend of the 'loch was ever so powerful as
the ancient Queen, she who sired a nation of darkness from infancy to
besiege mankind. When that darkness entered our world it was changed
forever. Deny the power and the truth of that, if you dare.
I say keep to your animal tending huntsmaster and leave lecturing on the
principles of change and how it affects our world to those who have
greater understanding of it, or do battle in words, if you have the
taste for it. Let us see if you know as much as you profess, for I have
served the Great Lady of Change for one hundred twenty of my one hundred
forty years and I will not be lectured at like an ivory toothed fledging
on that which I have dedicated most of my existence to.

Shut your mouth on your nonsense say I, or start speaking sense, but do
not put your words into the mouth of a sleeping goddess to further a
cause that is clearly your own. When the time comes Change will choose
its own side, and if that side be against the undead, then so be it,
needs must I accept that, but that decree will come from the mouth of
someone far greater and more experienced in these matters than you,
little more than a glorified shepherd.

Storm Child.

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Midsummer, in the year 189 MA.