User blog comment:Guildmaster Grovyle/JLE Role Play, Fall 2015/@comment-7345250-20150920090050


 * Golden Age steps into her room and closes the door behind herself. She spots her costume sitting on her bed. However, that particular ensemble is not her present concern...


 * She opens her closet.

Jane Neighpier: "Alright. I'll try not to blow the place up."


 * That was a joke... right?

Lanista: "What part of 'your master' did you not understand?"


 * Meanwhile, in a faraway land...


 * A pale changeling, the last of his kind, walks a path that he has not trodden in centuries. Still, it is a path he remembers well. It is not a path in any conventional sense, but it is a certain course through the wasteland with a certain destination at its end. Yes, he remembers it, and it is exactly as he remembers.


 * The thought brings a tear to his eye. He himself does not believe it until he notices a drop of dark mascara running splashing into the dust, but there it is.


 * This pastel-green sky, made warm and inviting by the late Celestia's sun, imbues into the land some kind of energy. It is not life, for there is nary a life form to be found in the hard rock comprising the whole landscape, but the rock is warm and pleasant nonetheless. It is a good kind of wasteland, quite unlike the Badlands of Equestria where the changelings dwell.


 * But maybe it is life in some way. This entire land seems to live forever. Nothing dies. Nothing rots. It is pleasant, clean, and eternal. Its beauty has endured. Oh, if only the rest of the world could be like this! No ugliness, no filth, no decay...


 * He looks back on his plan. In a place such as this, it almost seems foolish. Why risk everything when he can instead settle in the Nether Lands? He wound live forever, as would the beauty of everything around him. Beauty forever after. Beauty cosmic. He might finally know peace.


 * And yet... he has already lost too much and come too far. No, he cannot abandon his quest now. He cannot rest while beauty fades and ugliness germinates elsewhere. He cannot rest while the princesses indiscriminately permit their subjects to exist. He cannot rest while Aspen's wrath boils in paint. He cannot rest...


 * Thus, Parlys the Pale emotionally continues his trek over the barren expanse of rock.