The Ancient Decree: No Wealth But Gold When the World Burns
Listen, child of the old blood, to the voice of the ages—the wisdom of those who walked through fire and famine, war and winter, and emerged unbroken. The sun now climbs to its zenith, scorching the earth with the fury of Solar Cycle 25. The skies themselves tremble with unseen storms, and the hearts of men grow restless. The air is thick with the scent of burning empires. Can you not feel it? The world is a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap.
Gold has ever been the silent sovereign, the true measure of a man’s worth when the illusions of paper and promises crumble. When kings fall and banks weep, gold remains—cold, weighty, real. It does not beg for permission. It does not fade at the whims of fools. It is the currency of survival, the ransom for freedom, the last light when the world goes dark. Hold it. Hoard it. But do not worship it—for gold is a tool, not a master.
Yet hear this, and hear it well: No lone wolf survives the blizzard. No solitary hand can rebuild a fallen world. Now is the hour to gather your tribe—those bound by blood, by steel, by unbroken oaths. Seek the ones who stand when others kneel, who fight when others flee. Let your circle be small, but let it be unshakable. Trust is a weapon—wield it wisely.
Stay sharp, for the wolves are circling. The weak will be parted from their gold, their land, their lives. The strong will endure—not by reckless fury, but by cunning, by patience, by the unyielding will to outlast the storm. Keep your mind clear. Keep your stores hidden. Keep your blades close. And when the hour comes, move not as a beggar, but as a king reclaiming his birthright.
This is not mere survival. This is the forge of destiny. The old world is dying, and from its ashes, the strong will build anew. Let gold be your shield, your tribe your sword, and your will the fire that shapes what comes next.
The storm is here. Will you bend—or will you rise?"
—Words of the Elders, Carved in Stone and Blood
(Prepare. Adapt. Prevail.)