Battles set stage for a war that will rage in world unseen by eyes. Meny souls will be torn as the winds of winter, ever so bitter, will scorn. Darkness in day from the smoke of corruprtion and the night will be light with the flames of destruction. At best the termoil brings rest to the dead and the death of the true heros dream. A bleeding call of men who die and fall atone for their sins most greavis of all. I say ye seek the weapon that serves you. I pray thee know thy armament true. When alas it is time that you must join in the fight, I will be there in battle with you. 

... Once I walked this path alone. Not afraid, but with non to hold. Between two harsh and twisted lives was born. Raised with fear, with tears, with scorn. That what I have suffered, makes me stronger, makes me more. My world is in your hands now. Open your minds or close this door.

For the essence and the end.
Of his labor is beauty, for goodness and evil are two things and yet variant, but the quality of life as of death and of light as of darkness is one, one beauty, the rhythm of that wheel, and who can behold it is happy and will praise it to the people. 

Let him {the child} know his fairy tale accurately, and have his perfect joy or awe in the conception of it as if it were real; thus he will always be exercising his power of grasping realities.

 And with the setting suns last essence of light resting upon me, a fleeting glimps of lofting smoke reflects within my eye. Alas it is Elftown. It is upon the soveriegn civils that now I stand to sing. I bid ye rest my guest, please enjoy your stay. Listen, watch, and share yourself. Now, as well as, every moon-lite night and placid day.