I have peered back over my notes in the most curious fashion. I recall beginning this monumental tasks many months ago; I recall, nearly a year ago, when Kelith Vedan so unkindly kidnapped me from my home. I recall my loss and my hate of my most cruel Master. Reading my original writings, I can even see where I anticipated my own demise when I began to compile my work. That is very far from my mind now. The man I called once Most Cruel, and Most Hated Master has vanished. Before my eyes I have seen his figure cast and recast again in the base element of life. As his story grew and his person was revealed, as I studied my notes of the tales he had told me, the veils that had been cast before my eyes by my conventional and bounded thought were torn away. The yoke about my neck that prevented