Three characters' farewell:
The Final Log of Thomas Hobbes (Day 1300), which predates his death. His last words on day 1697-4: "Though I sang in my chains like the sea."
'Spanning from the end of the 700s with the initial release of the Hobbes Encyclopedia, a compilation of maps, information and general knowledge of the seas, technologies and places to be, to the very beginning of the 1300s was an era of intercontinental pioneering, discovery and communication. Over these 500 days, I have met as many people as cycles that have passed, or so it seems, and I am most pleased if only a percent of those have found utility and satisfaction from my print. With such modest need for my contentment, I am personally exuberated by the thought that it will serve those in generations to come, hopefully for good over evil. Whereas some sections will become obsolete, I am certain some bit of it will live on through history, more likely than not, it would be the maps of the shores and the shoreline. The sea is where the measurements have been taken from, and that is my home, and to be remembered to where I truly belonged, not manning the ramparts of Naron but rather the mast of the Navigator is where I ought be if anyone were to make a record of me. Throughout my life, I have buried my thoughts and sentiments mostly in the form of writing, which surprisingly extends beyond the bind of the Encyclopedia. As my words draw to a close, I ask the questions I am sure many a body has asked themselves; what was my purpose, have I served it well and how will I be remembered? I am satisfied with my answer, Hayden.'
This is John Locke's (621-1502) farewell speech, which shortly predated his death.
Perhaps this is the cliched ramblings of a man worn old by time, upbringing, and ideology, which has no influence or worth today. If this is what you believe, then all my years as a Ranger have proven both a success and failure, all very same. A success, immeasurable and unquantifiable for it is indeed abstract, and to put it into words that are read and felt is as hard as the trials we have faced. The Rangers, an organization I have served actively and continuously for the last forty years, have achieved a level of security and stability that the people of this Union can live in safety, without wondering how or why it is possible.
And in that is our failure, our failure to teach, our failure to learn, our failure to appreciate those who have honored the call of duty, commemorating the heroes of old, the Rangers of today, the spirit in which they work, live, and die for. There is a strange duality to it, much like the dualities hallmarking the choices of life, of choosing justice over crime, right over wrong, and of good over evil. For those who do not doubt the worth of these words, then they understand that the defining line has always been the Rangers, the "thin green line" that decisively divides through the ambiguity.
In any case, our accomplishments have been very real since our dawning in the creation of this Union. Those chronicled in the morning rise of the "Ranger's Tale", only include the first twenty years of my duty; the next ten drawing their perspective outward to be covered by "Echoes of a Life Lived"; until high noon, when the final ten years of afternoon glory were scribed in the "Compilation of Regional Song and Poetry", guarding the Region at large. The Rangers' achievements over the last ten years, for which I have led, whether as de facto or actual Leader, has resulted in the tangible increase of our overall force, a revised Ranger Charter, a permanent Ranger posted for each Mid-North town, the more than doubling of our vehicular capabilities, the proliferation of Ranger equipment due to the creation of the Engineers, and finally, the intangible spirit of good-will that helped repair the bridge between Clan MacGregor and the rest of the Union. Whereas that relationship is the backbone of the Region's stability; the other pole, absent, remains in its tyrannical chains, keeping us from 'True Unity'.
'True Unity' is a term both controversial, but inevitable. Our course, by the signals of these festivals, the sharing of our spirit, the liberties we desire, the justice of fairness through out all the lands, and most importantly, the unity through strength, where in such a case, the Union may prove to need to be more, a grander Republic, perhaps. This will not happen in my lifetime, not due to my reactionary bones or those like me, but that the time will depend on circumstance, reason, and need. And in that time, I expect the Rangers to be there, uncorrupted by politics, doing what they have always done, the one thing that counts, defending the dream that is the future of the Union.
So carry onward Rangers, "Give a hundred percent, and then some," I will say now still, as I take my retirement from the Corps. The years have been hard and have been rough and have been challenging, for the problems, the issues, the divisions we have faced; and more importantly, those we have overcome. I stand today, before you, the people of the Mid-North Union, a man whose toll has been taken from him, who can give no more, no better, no harder in this age that has come to him so quickly, to ask of you to accept his decision. It is indeed one of those dualities, those choices of life that I brought up earlier, and remind you of again, which has led me to this impromptu speech on my sixtieth birthday, and to choose now, perhaps selfishly so, but necessarily so, to give my wife the dear attention she has deserved for so long. And it is also time for me to step aside for the younger blood of today, of that which the wisest leaders of them all, Maily Yumm, hoped and dreamt would be able to, by our olden example, to take the charge into tomorrow's day.
As my last action as Leader of the Rangers, I will appoint Senior Deputy Ranger Jonson to Guardianship, and have him assist Guardian Turin Turambar in the co-provisional Ranger authority until the Mid-North Union decides at their next meeting of who it is that should permanently "lead the way" from today. Rangers, forever unsung, forever giving, forever intangible, lend your ears to your leader's words one last time, and rest him assured, that you will stand where he stood before, in all the yesterdays--"protecting the weak and the oppressed." There is only way to do this though, and that is by going out there and taking the challenges with open arms, but prepared, as they will not always come to you at the moment of your choosing.
This evening's dusk echoes my final words to you, Rangers, for by nightfall, I am no longer your Leader, so let them be of comfort: I want you to know that when I take truly to the sea, my last conscious thoughts will be of the Corps, and the Corps, and the Corps . . . I bid you farewell."
This is Lord Angus MacGregor's death (bottom-ups).Your character Angus MacGregor died. The last events for this character
were:
1697-4: You say: "Farewell, forever.
"
1697-4: You enter Gregor`s Quarters, where you see 0 people, leaving
Castle Mac Gregor.
1697-4: You say: ""As my words draw to a close, I ask the questions I
am sure many of a body has asked themselves; what was my purpose, have I
served it and how will I be remembered?" A great sea hound, who I met,
who bore fruits from bewildering lands across the splendid seas, asked
400 days ago and I reply finally, "I am satisfied with my answer,
Darlina, for it is in you." All of you."
1697-4: You say to Darlina Espy MacGregor: "M’anam, mo chroí, mo
ghlóir, *he kisses Darlina coolly on the lips as he enters the chamber
of the dingle starry* forever, Darlina, thank you."
1697-4: You say: ""I want you to know that when I take truly to the
sea, my last conscious thoughts will be of the Clan" to borrow the
words of a great poet Ranger. He dreamt as he took the charge. This, I
admired: I, too, joined my long lost fathers in evermore on seas that
were clouds, woven and unbroken. But they are not lost, for we honor
them this evening in what we do; and we do right. *he grins briefly* At
the core of that is love: love of our Clanfolk, love of our way, love of
our cause. Never forget."
1697-4: You say: ""Am I the painful legacy or the leader of the
Clan?" A poet leader, long ago, far away, asked that in prophecy. She
knew not, nor did I, nor did my father, what would become of me. I was
young once, golden as was my day, and I frolicked the fields, now
forever fled. But then, as Lord Gregor MacGregor grew old, his blood
ran through my claymore and I presumed the duty until today for all the
Clan's children of tomorrow. Live out your lives in this spirit, do not
let our 'strength and honor' go undone. I have faith in you. . . .
*he smiles solemnly toward Jennie and Seven*
Long live the Clan."
