by Brian Carlson

It's a time in history where the honor of knights meets the fiery stench of gunpowder. Where the powerful steed is replaced by even more powerful motorcycles.

Not all of this time's earlier qualities have been forgotten. Some carry swords passed down throughout the centuries, some fight for honor and righteousness while others fight for greed and villainy. They ride and they fight as it has always been and how it will always be for that is the way of the warrior. For that as the way of the Continuum. A world with no beginning and no end.

No one can say when the fighting started, or how they came to be, but they know they have no history and that they will never have one. In a universe of universes, where time has no meaning, order shuddered, and for that eternity in that timeless plane chaos reined supreme, and they where born. Out of chaos to times formed one and the Continuum was born. Out of the dust of nothingness they were formed to fight a battle never started and that shall never end...

Who can say that their realm is any less real, or their write to exist any less. They are what they are, and they do what the must do, what the were created to do. They fight. The good fight evil, evil plots against good like a plot in a million movies only real. As real and grim as true unhindered uncensored violence can be. There is nothing exciting about this world. The children are taught in the schools of the battle field and tested by survival. Death is commonplace. Despair is routine. Outrage is futile. This is a hopeless land ravaged by endless war.

No soul goes untouched by the atrocities of this realm. To think of how many good people have been forced to do so many bad things, merely to get by, is unimaginable, and the darkness of the evil men of this world pales in comparison to those of our own existence. In a world of gray area blinded by the whitest of whites and the blackest blacks.

They have their mystics, and their religions, but none of them have ever grasped the truth of their own existence. These mystics and so called prophets spend their days creating false gods and preaching their false prophecies to blind men from the true God and bend their wills into submission. These false prophets send these men to defend their cowardly bodies and possessions, while they cower in their sanctuaries scream meaningless prayers to idols, of plated gold and carven wood. They weave their hopeless incantations to the walls that surround them as nobler men give their lives for their pathetic existence.

There are those however who have felt meaning behind the thick walls of chaos and death. Those that have felt something true, and just, and righteous behind the veils of liars. They have felt the presence of God and he has shown them wonders, he has shown miracles, and most of given hope to a hopeless world.

The word is being spread, and the tides have turned forever. Believers have seen the truth strive to bring the truth to everyone regardless of the costs. Believers will be spurned, prophets burned, and martyrs will die but the word of the Lord will be known. God has written their names in the Book of Life and weaved their place in the history of Life.

God looked down upon his glorious creation and saw that it was good.

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There's no such thing as an accident, 26 March 1998