The very moment my twilight years began, I felt in every insignificant bone in my brittle body the need to eclipse my impending obsolescence. People need to work in one form or another, and after years of physical labor, a shift to the mind seemed most apt for my situation. And as my psyche fades into the abyss from whence it came, my darling wife suggested I might write down my memories before they leave me for good. So from the bottom of my heart, I thank her for this, as well as the love and support she gave to me throughout my years of being both a good man and a glorious vagabond.

From my younger years, it was always taught to me to do what good I could with the tools I had by my mentor, Sage, and his advice has done much good for me in this, the twilight of my life. In fact much of him lives on through me, an avatar of his many teachings, and I do hope that someone I've touched in my travels or even one such as you, a reader of this exercise in maintaining a focused mind, has learned from one of your many insightful phrases, or become enamored with that wild brand of philosophy you once touted so proudly. Though I bereave myself so preemptively, in a way the wife calls shameful, the thought of meeting with you once more is making things much easier on me. I can't wait to ask you all the questions I've had over the years since your absence.

To my friends in the Orange Archipelago, specifically the isles of Mango and Tangerine, I thank you for all the hospitality you've given me, and the delicious food you always had ready. I might have need for one of your great harvest soups in the near future—winter is coming, after all.

To my son and my daughter, wherever you may be, I thank you both for giving me purpose even if you haven't realized it.

And finally, to my father the king, the man I chased and chased, I thank you for trying your best. You taught me to do mine no matter what, and to do the right thing even if it didn't feel right. Men of honor deserve its splendor, and you are of no exception.

I hope that whomever has read this to completion understands fully the power of the Vastmire. Nowadays, the world has forgotten the pull men and women with power had, as these are times of not only peace but salvation, but in my youth I saw the true horror of living in a world filled with people toying with godhood, as if the world were palpable dough in the hands of a capable chef. Men and women using it were weapons in themselves, far from the humanity they tossed aside. I like to think I was the one responsible for ending it.

The mantle of the Moss Knight dies with me.

This is my story.

Peppermint Avocado,

Summer Six, Year 1676