The End Of An Era

Almost half a decade ago, I picked up a Dungeon Master's Guide. At first, it was "just this once," for a friend who's busy life wouldn't let him attend my Dungeons and Dragons group's regular sessions. I had a simple quest planned out, gathered a couple extra players, and drove out to my friend's house in Easley for my first ever D&D session as the Dungeon Master.
I had a blast, and story ideas blossomed.  Little did I realize that the tiny story seed I'd just planted that night would blossom into a five year long campaign that not only traversed the entire continent, but would break into epic levels.
At the time, I didn't think being a DM would become a passion. It was just something I was doing for Ryan Wagner because I wanted to help a friend try out D&D. But the story wouldn't end.
Many people would come and go as PC's and one-shot cameo NPC's over the next few years, too many for me to name them all, but it all started on the road to Elversult.
Now, it's time to tie up the loose ends and take a bow; at least for this Dungeon Master. That's some bitter-sweet Kool-Aid, but no worries, I'm not killing everyone. (Or at least, I don't plan on it....)
We've come a long way from a party of rag-tag level one's. We've robbed a Thayan Enclave,and lived to tell about it; vanquished vampires in ways that would make a Paladin cheer; violated dragons while cackling maniacally at our own good fortune with the dice while the DM smiles and nods at the level of chaotic creativity; we've learned about the real business end of a Tarrasque; and we have fought alongside angels, and stormed the gates of hell. We've gained power, wealth, infamy, titles, and changed the course of history for all of Toril forever.
I look forward to these last few sessions, and I hope you will as well.

It's been epic.

A Rant on Greenville's "Christianity"

I'm so glad I didn't grow up in Greenville. If I had, I have little doubt in my mind that I'd be an atheist. The Christian community here makes the whole of Bluefield look like Saints.  If it weren't for my parents, a few good Christian leaders that the Greenville area seems hell-bent on labeling "not Christian enough," and the Godly examples of the friends of my family back in Virginia, I'd think I was being fed a bunch of lies when read the Bible.
This region is disgusting. The only people I can trust around here to lead an exemplary life are people who've sworn off the so-called church because it's no longer a Church, it's a social club to be catty, holier-than-thou at after fucking the pastor's pre-teen daughter on Sunday so you could get the position on the board of Elders and earn the title of "spiritual leader."
I honestly think the best thing for this area, and quite possibly the country as a whole, is for it to fall to religious persecution. After all, the Church has always thrived under persecution. Persecution makes us forget about the things that don't really matter and focus on the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
This need is evidenced by the rampant complacency in some parts of the Church for doctrine, and the vile hatred for the lost in the name of "loving doctrine" or "despising sin" in others.

Just A Catalyst.

This is just a rough draft. Whether I ever work on it again or not, eh.

Were I blind, my ears would have heard nothing from you to speak of Christ's Grace.
Were I deaf, my eyes would have seen nothing of Christ's love in your deeds.
Whether word or deed, I don't see Christ in you.
But I am not blind; I am not deaf, I see and I hear all your hate and all your whisperings.
And though you claim Christ, your deeds make lies of your claims.
But even a dumb rock can be a catalyst to the Almighty's testimony
For in your harsh words and diabolic deeds, my dear bride has been a portrait
Of her Savior, suffering your incourtesies and returning grace;
Enduring your impurity and offering love that truly is without condition.
Would I could be so meek and bold! But one truth bars me.
You claim my Christ, yet profane His name by your very interactions.
That I cannot forebear. It sickens me; it makes the bile rise in my throat
To think that deeds like yours will be the only Christ some will ever see.
Were I those sad souls, gladly would I chose damnation over such a false, pretentious hope.
But praise be that I am not them! My precious darling, in her every interaction with you
Is a constant reminder of the Grace that Abode with us.
And while my anger calls for burning justice, she stands and intercedes for you.
So, if you ever do give thanks, give praise to God that you were used of Him as a catalyst.
If you ever speak of grace, plea for it in earnest. Like all souls eternal, there is much need of it.
But woe to you who give my bride sorrow. Her intercession is all that stays me.