Time passes...

... and I am still here.

It is not worth to complain, of course. Of all the places these mists have taken me, this would be the first one that has not tried to kill me or teach me some form of moral revelation I was better off not knowing... but now I am worried.

Things, like time, pass, along with the memories of what has gone before. The gods looked down on me and cursed me to roam these lands one after the other, but instead of thrusting me from place to place... they just left me here. Here, in this land of mis-directed alleyways and cursed corners. Three years of making a living watching people come and go from the mists. Why?

I have long given up the hope of meeting someone from my time, from my place. So many primes, so many worlds, it would be a blessed miracle - or curse - to see someone from the days when Rome ruled it all.

From the days that I ruled it all.

The thought of them leaving me here to die tempts me with each day... but my natural born stubborn-ness will not give in so easily. That would be far too easy a fate for them to bestow me; they might as well just send me back to my desercated kingdom and have done with it all.

Even today, three years on from the first day of mists, I remember it clear as day.

I sat in the throne room, struggling with myself not to order the whole senate to their death.They had sided with me when my time had come and wanted their well-earned dues. The Vultures. To fight them would be to fight myself, and I was ready to give in to whatever they wanted to ask... when I heard it. The sound of fighting from beyond the door. I walked - Caesar does not run - and looked beyond my balcony, to see a small boy, armed with a sword, standing in the court. He yelled, cursing my name, swearing that upon the dead bodies of his family he would see me suffer for what I had done.

That, I believe, was when the guards cut him in two.

I know it was, because that was when I shouted the order, unhesitantly.

Only then, and then on up till now now, looking back on myself, did I realise how much of a fool and tryant I was. A proud king, a bloody throne, and the dead carcass of a young boy too innocent to die on his own. When I left that balcony, and returned to my chamber, I was that no more. The spell of power had worn off, and I could see myself for the first time in the three years of my rule.

A Dictator.

And had I not entered my chamber, looked up with tears in my eyes, only to be standing in a sea of white mists, I do not know what would have happened to me.

They took me, in my moment of weakness, everywhere. For what I would assume to be the better part of a week, they took me through worlds beyond worlds, horrific image after horrific image. They came hard, fast, quick, I was here one moment, and I was gone the next. I went mad, insane, depressed, all at once with each change. I met companions on my journey for some of it, and lost them on the next.. and then... just like that, I was here. The centre of all worlds. Placed here for something, anything, only the gods would know.

And here I will remain, till the gods see it fit to move me elsewhere. Here I shall stay till it all becomes clear. I retrain myself, I study, I learn as much as I can, in paitence. Even now, the bartender down the road - any road - has sent word that a band of adventurers have come with a story to tell. He thinks it would settle the business with the succubi from last month.

Psh.

What good would some prime do me?