A voice like stone slabs sliding over each other eminates from a pile of black robes. "Do you really think that cultures, east or west, 'easily fall to a blade or fireball spell?' They live far longer than that. Tian-Shu culture stretches back at least to Earthfall, and I expect it will survive your dismissive remarks." He laughs a mirthless laugh. "'My legacy must endure long after my bones are dust in the wind.' Heh. 'Qadira and the do-gooders seek fickle things that can be taken away.' Heh. You speak as if fame is less fickle or longer lasting than gold, or as if the quality of the deed, good or ill, somehow affects the length it is remembered. Know this: Your name will be forgotten. Your legend will fade to nothing. They will be blotted out countless eons before the stars wink out. Everything Ends. Does it matter if your memory lasts fifty or fifty thousand years after you die?
"You still wish to be remembered, do you? Do you wish to say that you have won life because you were remembered longest? I would suggest, then, that you seek out Osirion, for their memory is long, and their culture old and stable. Cheliax may switch gods again, Andoran change governments, but Osirion will carve your name in stone and memory.
"So speak I, Priest of Groetus, the Harbinger of Last Days."
