Direction

He's not vocalizing, just mouthing the words silently over and over. Three syllables repeated endlessly. "Who Am I?"

Scorch the mud. dry it up!

The more you think about the muddy plain, the more you despise it. You look out at the great expanse before you, limbs of what you assume to be men sinking slowly into its depths. As you watch its foul gluttony your anger grows and grows. You want it gone, you want it defeated, you want it burned away. You want nothing more than cracked earth where the mud once flowed. And lo before you a great flash of flame expands out to the horizon. Only scorched earth remains in its wake. Those trapped within it writhe in the sudden intense heat. When it is passed some move no more, but still others rise, pushing away the dry soil.

And then you see something else, something shimmering in the distance. It could be a mirage but something tells you otherwise.

What is that?

A SHIP

A proud ship if ever there was one. It plows effortlessly through the cracked earth, golden prow curving majestically into the sky. Its splendor is matched only by its enormity. And it is moving quickly, in fact it has been only minutes since you noticed its bulk peer around the horizon and already it seems as though it is right on top of you. It is pride, it is arrogance, it is light. You hate it. It is your antithesis, your enemy. You know this with every cell in your body. Your greatest adversary rests aboard that ship. This is their great work, this is their symbol. And it is inexorably and unstoppably headed directly towards you.

STAND YOUR GROUND YOU CAN TAKE ON A SHIP