[ and so... it begins ]

[Lazarus]

Let me tell you of a world,
A world from the Song of the Dead
Across this world roams the Myst
Slithering, pining, moaning
Waiting
It waits for the "perfect" one
The one whose brilliance will burn the misery away.

Yes, this is the world of Myst, so named because of the Myst that inhabits this once-peaceful land. It rolls across the oceans, caps the snowy mountains, and darkens even the hottest desert. It's watching. Waiting. Few have lived to hear the cries that it gives, heard only in story and fable.
Once, this world had another name; when the mist did not surround every city, this world was known as Valmordia. A beautiful place; prosperous and fair. Much like our own world, as a matter of fact. Many hundreds of thousands of years, the living creatures of this world lived in harmony. Until the day of the Fog.

It began as any other morning; clouds were rolling in over the farmland, and the citizens of Theranse were beginning to awaken. It seemed to be a peaceful day in paradise; cloudier than normal, but a pleasant winter's day. Only the scientists looked up from their work and saw the Fog. The citizens went about their business, thinking the weather would clear the next day. No ships left the harbour, not wanting to chance the fog. "It'll be gone tomorrow," they all said.
But it wasn't. Myst is here, and it is here to stay.

Until that time it feeds
Pull others in to suffer play
But they are never enough
Myst wants more
It needs it
"Oh, perfect one, why have you deserted me?"

There's something that the Myst needs... Someone. Something. Some other that will end its screams and endless, nightmarish howls.

The scientists like to play
Wrench the souls of innocents
And subject them to the madness
Send them marching to the Myst like little toy soldiers
To be battered, deformed and crushed.

There's more to the people of Myst than meets the eye, too.
The scientists have had enough of being trapped; they want out. They began experimenting with the creatures that the Myst created, experimenting with those who had not yet been subjected .. Always watching. Always searching. Looking for something that will survive in the Myst... Or, at least, retain its sanity.
But over time, legitimate methods became too... constrictive. The tests they needed broke laws. Laws of morals, laws of reason... Even the laws of nature herself. All had to be broken for the scientists to find the solution they craved.
And so, they began to meddle with souls.

The souls of the innocent fuel these acts
The fire burning high.
They say; "For the good of the world, aid we shall!'
The scientists ecstatically agree.
They dismember with joy
Limbs and lives aflight
Flying to the Hushed place
Where they will twirl with the air's fury
Of it's domain, stolen.

The souls that can survive these sadistic acts are innocent and pure. But how do you test innocence? What is innocence itself? Is it the ability to believe that the world is so good, and that everyone is beautiful...? Or it is to know that the world is cruel and ignore that fact with the intent of living life to the fullest.

Either way, there is something about this "innocence" that allows them to survive, to believe and to go horribly, horribly insane

Some of the souls are not so innocent
They don't want to play
The scientists tie them up and kill gag them
And throw them to the sewers
Like a child rejecting a toy.

It's called the Parima-Madness. It twists the metal creatures -aptly named Chimeras- into the wide reaches of insanity. After all, what reason have they to stay sane?


And deep down they know
They are doomed to fail in the end.

-end transmission- [/center]