Ah, a spoon! Ive been needing one *creige tucks away the spoon before sitting down, the rustle of fabric and faint drone of hymms can be heard* well its been a while friends! And for that i do apologise, i have been rather busy as of late. Right now i am currently hiding in one of the abandoned rooms of the citadel, and believe me i plan to depart as swiftly as possible. Despite this cults obsession i have always somewhat appreciated the citadels structure. Its practices? Stars above no but it is quite a beautiful thing really. But really, trapesing through here has allowed me much time to think of gods and the such, despite my likely well known... distaste of higher beings. But ill start of quite frankly, i dont believe that these gods are truly gods at all. Heh, blasphemous i know but this is what i think, the gods that inhabit these worlds are simply bugs such as us, powerful bugs yes but still bugs. Limited to the cycles of life and death despite their long lives making them seem immortal compared to our comparativly short ones. Bugs perhaps that have been able to master the world around us much like us common folk have, only to a much higher degree. If the some bugs are able to master their surrlundings or the forces of this world then whos to say that we are not gods ourselves? Perhaps gods are merely a title we have forced upon these bugs as a form of catagorisation, the sands of time long stripping away their meanings until none remember save for the gods themselves. But why would they tell us? Who wouldnt want to elevate themselves above their others in more than just size or strength? Who wouldnt want to be cared and worshiped? Who wouldnt want to feel special in a world that continues to remind us constantly that we are merely a part of it.

...

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...in honour of our fallen warrior, mistweed brew is now available at halfway home...

...it is no unkown fact that i do not like the citadel, i believe i have made that abundantly clear. But i do have to admit there is a certain... industrial charm to this place, despite what i know the citadel does to make this underbelly of gears and machinery running. But this very place is why i had truly begun to hate the citadel. It was quite a ways back, back when the halfway home was no more than a mere shack with barely enough space for myself! Let alone other pilgrims. But one day the usual group of pilgrims had come in to rest for their countinued journey. At this point in my life i mearly was indifferent towards the citadel, no hate but certainly no love for it either. But one in the group of pilgrims was a thin but bubbly fellow named reedy, a bug i became good friends with. Despite the hardships and injuries on his pilgrimage he had faced he never once had lost his smile, he made quite the conversation thats for sure, until we had talked long into the night. It was not until a year or so until i saw him again, i was passing through the underworks for my own reasons before i stumbled across him and...

*sigh* ...i nearly didnt recognise him, he was practically nothing but shell, his body was hollow and weak, his features drained of both color and life. I tried to talk to him, help him, get him to rest for even a moment! But he barely even looked at me before stumbling away, muttering some nonsense about the sin of distraction or whatever nonsense the citadels chior spews from their gaping maws...

And that is how i grew to hate the citadel friends, to see what it did to innocent bugs just to turn its wretched gears. Bugs confined to a life of servitude and meagre pay that they have to spend completely for its bare essentials to let others who do not deserve it live a life of opulance and pleasure. To see how these systems trap these bugs in a cycle of work that is inherently designed to be inescabable is... disgusting, to put it mildly.