The Point

Vaden paces aboard the large state quarters of a new ship, Raziel's Paragon, as he talks to an eleven man crew. He appears to be finishing up a briefing. The eleven men depart, leaving Vaden alone in the quarters. After pacing for awhile, he pulls out a bottle of Gallente wine, drinking straight from the bottle. The label says Luminaire-YC 82, a pricey vintage. He drinks haphazardly, dribbling wine down his chin and wiping it away with a broad swipe of his arm. He quickly empties the bottle, setting it clumsily on the desk.

Recorder on. What the hell is the point? I walked with Aria outside of the Gate the other night. We talked, about many things, and that damned woman did what she always does. She pointed out my flaws. I don't like that. She also had to point out that she and I were alone among the pilots of Ghost Festival in one regard. We always ask, "why?"

I am an Amarrian. I am also a Sani Sabik. My faith centers on the advancement of the self. The pursuit of power by those with the will and the strength to take it. The laws of God, the laws of nature, survival of the fittest, the dominion of the weak by the strong. But why? What the hell is the point? I'm on board my second capital ship, an Archon I've named after Raziel, a fine examplar of the Sani Sabik. I've amassed so much wealth, so much power. I feel it all amounts to nothing. Immortal I may be, but sooner or later, my brainscan will fail. Some disease or catastrophe will arise that wipes us all out. Maybe we're just puppets to some Jovian play, and they'll launch an attack that kills us all outright. Regardless, one day, long from now, I will die, and there will be no clone to reanimate me. And there will still be no answer to "why?" Power is all temporary. Band of Brothers is proof enough of that. They held Delve for years, and one deranged director destroys the entire thing. Delve belongs to the Swarm now.

I guess I'm just beating around the issue at hand. I've lost focus in my life. I think...I feel I am missing something, or someone. I desire a legacy, although that path is looking bleaker by the day. Children are out of the question. I can't exactly form a nation, or create something with such a lasting impression that historians will remember me centuries after my bones turn to dust. I guess, in the end, my thirst for power will have to be the end of my means, instead of the means to my end. Taken that way, I guess there is no point at all.