HOME | DD

Description
When one considered the end of the world originally, one expected an ending. The apocalypse that Revelations foretold. Those horsemen gunning down to take the souls of the living into their grip and force every last being on our (once) pitifully small planet into lifelessness. There would be running and screaming – terror of the highest magnitude. One would have expected to know when it was coming; that time when existence would end. When it would fade into the nothingness of time, with only the memories of those still living to foothold the reality that it even existed in the first place.

It is overwhelming, really. The sense of irony one gets when considering the views of a time since passed here and now, in the future it stemmed from. A time one was once a part of and so attached to. Reality was like a dream. A fantastical existence (though violent and often heartbreaking at the best of times). A dream now ended. Forgotten with the shell of a world left down below, and for all the foresight, revolutionaries and visionaries in the Old World, there was most definitely one thing that no one had expected; the abrupt halt to Earth's story. Chewed up and spat out like a crumpled piece of Copy White that had jammed up the ever-present and diligent dot matrix printer of humanity's existence.

It was almost cruel, how in the end it was all reduced to nothingness; never a single warning sign. No crescendo of the human will to live. No banding together to fight the common enemy. No rise... only the fall. However, I digress.

My name is Dr. Magnus Monroe. However, I am simply addressed as Quill by those in my present company. I am an archivist, a scribe – a lore keeper of many an Old World book or phile. This journal, or what I would like to call 'an ongoing autobiographical recitation of events concerning The Search', contains our continuing adventure, and it is my duty- nay, my privilege -to record and retell it. To pass this knowledge on through the ages of our belittled and barely-there existence in time and space. Why? Well, one thing that we humans have and can hold on to... is history. Stories. Wonderful, magnificent stories...

So forgive me, dear reader, if this phile or dare I say journal ends in your hands. This is our story... and I implore you to read on. I implore you because I survived. We survived, and this is the archive of our journey. Our search. The Search for Cyberia.

_____________________

Excuse my SHIT writing, but there you have it. This is Quill's prologue to Search for Cyberia. Quill will be made resin in the form of a RickyDoll LE Helios at a later date. For now, I have only art of him.

Description
When one considered the end of the world originally, one expected an ending. The apocalypse that Revelations foretold. Those horsemen gunning down to take the souls of the living into their grip and force every last being on our (once) pitifully small planet into lifelessness. There would be running and screaming – terror of the highest magnitude. One would have expected to know when it was coming; that time when existence would end. When it would fade into the nothingness of time, with only the memories of those still living to foothold the reality that it even existed in the first place.

It is overwhelming, really. The sense of irony one gets when considering the views of a time since passed here and now, in the future it stemmed from. A time one was once a part of and so attached to. Reality was like a dream. A fantastical existence (though violent and often heartbreaking at the best of times). A dream now ended. Forgotten with the shell of a world left down below, and for all the foresight, revolutionaries and visionaries in the Old World, there was most definitely one thing that no one had expected; the abrupt halt to Earth's story. Chewed up and spat out like a crumpled piece of Copy White that had jammed up the ever-present and diligent dot matrix printer of humanity's existence.

It was almost cruel, how in the end it was all reduced to nothingness; never a single warning sign. No crescendo of the human will to live. No banding together to fight the common enemy. No rise... only the fall. However, I digress.

My name is Dr. Magnus Monroe. However, I am simply addressed as Quill by those in my present company. I am an archivist, a scribe – a lore keeper of many an Old World book or phile. This journal, or what I would like to call 'an ongoing autobiographical recitation of events concerning The Search', contains our continuing adventure, and it is my duty- nay, my privilege -to record and retell it. To pass this knowledge on through the ages of our belittled and barely-there existence in time and space. Why? Well, one thing that we humans have and can hold on to... is history. Stories. Wonderful, magnificent stories...

So forgive me, dear reader, if this phile or dare I say journal ends in your hands. This is our story... and I implore you to read on. I implore you because I survived. We survived, and this is the archive of our journey. Our search. The Search for Cyberia.

_____________________

Excuse my SHIT writing, but there you have it. This is Quill's prologue to Search for Cyberia. Quill will be made resin in the form of a RickyDoll LE Helios at a later date. For now, I have only art of him.