You are as different from your namesake as night is from day; but that is all right, you never made any claims to heroism. No, no, there is no need for such foolhardiness; the path to greatness can lie just as easily in the mind as in the body. In the right hands, to the right ends, the pen can indeed be mightier than the sword. Trite, trite, trite, but the truth of God, and there's nothing to be done about it.
And so, cloistered deep within your sanctuary of sanctuaries you pored over the books of Jewish mysticism, explored its arcane secrets. Power you have achieved; power, and the wisdom with which to use it. Power without wisdom is as a boat without a rudder; it may toss about in the storm but aimless it wanders and shall never find its safe harbour, never, never, never.
The Hearthstone name is too, too great to entrust to your simple brethren. Only father could wield them, transform them into the keen-edged weapons they are, the only application for which they are fit. But father ails, and soon father shall sleep the sleep of death. Must not all things? But the others must not lead. You love them, but they are idiots. The place is yours; by right of wisdom, by right of intellect, by right of endeavour and industry. You will seize it, for the good of the family, for it is your place.
An explanation of what the Badb is.
The picture, arthur1.jpeg, above, is a focus from "Portrait of a Man" by Parmigianino. So far as I am aware, it is in the Public Domain.
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