Existence is a truly esoteric thing; it is a liminal space born from an explosive transition from emptiness to entirety when all came into material reality and with the awareness of our present we can only speculate a beginning, and expect an end. The mystery of creation is such that our mind cannot fully encompass it; and so we turn to thought and contemplation, the faculties of intelligent-beings which try to understand what cannot be intuited. But no matter how much one contemplates nothingness or existence, the truth remains inaccessible and unknowable by human-kind; as if it all was covered by design.

This leads to the ever raging battle between the absolute and the relative ontologic perspectives of existing; the absolute is an ordered whole that has form, whereas the relative being a great void of all that has no existence at all, it is in this way that our minds have chosen to percieve reality in it's most essential design.

Yet the ancients were not so blind to the vastness of reality and saw this difference as one of perspective; each existing as it's own interpretation. Our understanding of reality, being so limited by our senses, led to our inability to see beyond the material, thus it all came down to either or, two opposites which cannot coexist.

Absolutes appear to be just as subjective and elusive as relativistic ideas, however, it is the very notion of absolutes which acts like a veil before the face of the incomprehensible; a shroud that the mind of man cannot see past, an asymptotic approach to the nature of existence, such that we will never come to truly know anything other than what is known to us through the limitations of our mind, and it is this very limitation that has lead to the nebulous problem of the role of consciousness in relation to the physical universe.

- Preface of Existential Pride, by Lai Moonard

"That should make for a proper introduction!" I told myself, as I placed my pen on the table, and stared skeptically at the words I had just jotted down on the covering pages of my just short of empty book. It had been a lingering idea on the back of my mind for months now, that of immortalizing some of my ideas on a piece of paper, and last night I had just gotten a sudden motivation to do so, somewhat hypocritical of my side considering merely two years ago i would have considered it pretentious. After i was done waiting for the ink to dry out, i closed the cover with a sense of decidedness and finally stood up from that uncomfortable creaking wooden chair i borrowed from the hallway outside that had been pushing at my back so uncomfortably for nearly an hour now, I turned to the window to glance at the green landscape outside, letting my senses be enveloped by the softness emanating from every tree and grass of blade obstructing the pathway of the sunlight and wavering harmonically with the rustling of the wind in the warm hours of the early morning, with the lovely birds playing their nothing-short-of grating yet homely tune like a trained orchestra. The optimism of a day filled with activities rushed over me as i realized how close we were to our destination, so i decided to not waste a second longer, grabbed my trusty leather pouch my grandmother gave to me on my 14th birthday, slid some gold coins and a loaf of bread and headed out of the Inn to catch up to Nia who's resounding deep and smooth voice with i could hear clearly through the wooden planks on the floor below me.

Nia is my friend, travel companion and security escort, the all purpose tool, but not only does she make an excelent leader in times of crisis, a fantastic cook when all you have is the dangerously-looking aromatic ingredients of nature, and a nice shoulder to rest on when you're feeling homesick and far from your the comfort of your cozy chambers, she also compliments my every shortcoming, a perfect partner to have if you walk the life of a thief and adventurer, i am sure we will be together till death do us part!. She has been with me through thick and thin, even when we didn't know what this partnership would become one day; in fact our friendship wasn't exactly planned either. A noteworthy fact about her is that she has never had a taste for evocative interpretations of the world and artsy meanings behind life itself, and she is not as good at concealing that it as she might think she is, her values often incline to what is practical and what works, what makes one strong and rids of the weak, an amazing pragmatic strategist is how i would describe her in a short sentence, and mere games of words or fancy proverbs won't get you far with her. But when push comes to shove, she's no slouch!.

We are explorers you see, Nia and I, thieves, bandits, outlaws, borrowers of the unclaimed treasures of this world, we don't belong anywhere, and yet, we belong everywhere.

From seemingly opposite inclinations, we met 5 years ago when I was still a student of the arcane arts and she was a fierce warrior destined to become to become a Paladin, when a tragic incident in which i nearly lost my life some two weeks after my arrival at the Academy took place.

The details are unnecessary, but i was almost crushed by the head of a 15 meter tall old statue dating back to the founding of the Academy that suddenly collaped on the main square. Few were the unfortunate ones that stood below the rubble, dying instantly. Talk about an absurd end.

Aid arrived quickly and tended to the wounded, I was still sitting in shock with my eyes fixated on the gigantic bone-colored marble severed head lying in front of me. Nia took quick notice of me and as the rest of her crew picked up the debris and grotesque severed limbs yet lying on the the ground, she took me by the hand to a silent spot away from the chaos to offer some trauma counseling. It was only then that I understood how close i had come to the death, had i been walking a little faster, had i left my dorm five seconds sooner... it was a sobering realization... and after some forgettable small talk I posed her this question, "If the only thing you can be sure of is of your ever-nearing death, what is truly stopping us from avoiding the hauling awareness of that future and commiting suicide on the spot?".

Our personal answer to that question ended up being different from each other, differences which were originally root to many heated exchanges between us two, and I must admit I took the subject rather passionately, but it was the very same question that plagued me during the weeks following the incident, the idea of a living being, fledged and complex and ultimately doomed to die alone to eventually be forgotten to time was too dreadful, what is the meaning of this absurd cycle? and thus when i came across the rather singular Nia, her stoic outlook on life and her ability to look beyond the obvious of things resonated with me greatly, and after a few more meetings and conversations, even if we sometimes clash in opinions, we became fast friends.

We will soon depart, to get to Deraata before the sun sets, only a fool would walk the road in the dark of night and the forest is too dangerous to venture far from the main road, but the real purpose of our journey there lies us elsewhere, a few acres beyond the end of the road, where the sun rests dormant, the Hamlet of Daheidas, concealed from cartographers and exploreres alike, dwelling quietly deep inside the old rain forest, surrounded by a warped bubble, a discontinuation on the narrative of the world that holds

every single speck of matter inside it preserved and unafflicted from the relentless march of time, the place is thought to be deific ground, a rupture in the patchwork of natural existence made long ago by a powerful individual, who wished to hear the universe sing, a man who knew no bounds, legend has it he tore space from time, separated the shadow from the light, the beginning from the end and became the first being to ever reveal a major piece of the puzzle behind the mystery of all creation, he journeyed to the center of the maze and brought home a gift of understanding for us all, a new purpose, but the universe sang in a tune of veiled whispers and colorful symbols, for it wished to remain misunderstood and misinterpreted, sharing it's seraphic aspirations only to those nuanced souls it deems capable of understanding, and in return, they too can sing after their departure from this world, adding up to the unceasing verse that will be heard even after the end of the known cosmos; -or so goes the story that my dear friend Nia likes to throw around-.

Nia also mentioned that when you set foot outside the proximity of the hamlet, your memories of the place will wash away in an instant, they will be reduced to a hazy dream-like set of imagery that has been indelibly latched to your mind where all will feel distant, unfamiliar and eerie. The "Nearsighted mind" is what the few scholars who studied the strange phenomena decided to call it. Like a stagnant sphere where all is detached, where time cannot reach, where all that is possible and probable unfolds, where strength turns to weakness, prowess to impotence and wisdom to a muted tone of folly. It a place where everything is a mere mirage, a world of dreams where the imagination is king, and reality a prisoner.

We sent a group of capable thieves there two weeks ago, to retrieve an artifact of unknown functions but very valuable if you find the right buyer, Vanna, Clode, and Astias are their names. Experienced in dealings with the lonesome outerworld, they went alone without backup or escort; we knew this was risky, given that its common to get lost in the lands outside the wall, but we thought it best not to involve ourselves directly, for obvious reasons.

The village of Deerata is an interesting place, remarkably recognizable by it's thatches and well mantaind wooden houses, each decored by locally-grow blossoms and flowers of various colors and species, since they grow faster and higher here at the edge of the world, giving the place it's characteristic welcoming smell that could persuade anyone as a jolly invitation to wander aimlessly through the peaceful streets, or sitting next to the breezy river crossing through the heart of the village, flowing effortlessly day and night, the river of Raheros which played a significant role in its early development, but then again how much needs to be said about a single village? It has its share of amenities, and if you don't count the strange and curious people living there, then one may call it a perfectly ordinary village. It stands at the border of what many consider to be the limits of the mortal quota of land, beyond the ominous wall standing vigilant in the distant horizon lies the "Cursed territory, where mortals may not tread, reserved only for the gods above", the pits where the divine gift of reason fades lies beyond this village, and that is no mere allegory, as it has been a cautionary tale in numerous ocations, be it by design or by chance, that the unlucky few who have decided to tread freely beyond the wall, where acres upon acres of barren forest and dry soil covered with a mantle of foul deep dark sand that forms a daunting image of a place you could have very well taken from a nightmare washing away to the horizon awaits them, only to return shambling and hollow, devoid of reason, reduced to the simplicity of the mind of the beast, aggressive and mad, as if their souls had been raptured by an otherwordly energy during their venture beyond the wall, it has been a rare sight which folktales consider to represent remnants of a cosmical consciousness of ancient descend which fell to earth shattered and in pieces, attempting to bring itself back to life through the fragmented existence of man, forming a hive-minded creature separated into millions of bodies yet all fixating on the same thing all at once, the true nature of the situation however still remains a mystery, many historians, antrophologists and archivists have put together various different interpretations of these tales but there has been no sufficient cleverness, desire or agreement to make a feasible explanation common since due to their age they have been reduced to nothing more than mere myths used to scare kids thousands of years ago.

Lying on the edge of the world lies a wall, made of night-dark rock, dwarfing every nearing structure, stretching for various kilometers, menacing and awake at all times of the day; it is guarded by an elite force of warriors and archers who patrol its length, they are called the "Argive-eyed Men". Their purpose is to restrict the exit...or entrance of any curious unsuspecting individual who wishes to leave or enter the vast, cold, unknown steppe of the outer side of the wall, however, making your way past the guards didn't pose a real challenge, not even for the young unschooled young troublemakers coming from Deraata who ocasionally ventured on the outskirts of the wall, just to see the vastness, unexplicably horrifying sight of the lands beyond. Daheidas is located a mere couple of hours on foot from here on the outside zone, from a certain clocktower in Deraata, you can see the highest point of the masonry spire of the ancient cathedral rising high above the abandoned hamelt, its intricate stonework and ornate symbol on the peak visible for miles around, only covered from shaft below by the already century-grown fauna sorrounding the place.

We were expecting news from our employed cat burglars in Deraata today. Nia decided to conceal the nature of the objects from them, to prevent any attempt at subcontracting, she said.

It's important for those unfamiliar with the ways of the world, that an imperative rule in any venture of dubious intent is to always have someone else take over the responsibility for your failure to stand up to the deal. This is true of every possible kind of agreement; from barter, through gift, to contract. It requires some discretion as well, one must find someone who will be willing to accept full responsibility for whatever happens if you don't deliver something. In other words, it's very hard to do these things alone.