A sacrifice to Mt. G'al

Dearest Friends,

During my time exploring the hills and valleys surrounding Mt G'al, in the area that now comprises Second Life's newest regions, I spent time with the indigenous peoples and had an opportunity to study their beliefs and folklore. They told of the great volcano's insatiable appetite for sacrifice, and the horrors of G'al's wrath should its demands not be met. This seems to be a major factor in the tribe's decision to leave these lands to be re-inhabited by the Residents of Second Life.

Deciphering a number of clues from the stories of Mt. G'al, I determined that it might be possible to predetermine the identity of G'al's chosen sacrifice -- and by doing so avoid the calamity of the volcanic eruption all together. I consulted a prominent shaman, and -- during a 7 hour possession the likes I have never witnessed -- he shared his prophetic list of the great volcano's chosen victims.

My memory of the night spent with the prophet is hazy at best, and my attempts to transcribe his vision are confused and rambling -- as though I myself was possessed by the angry spirit of Mt. G'al. I will endeavor, as best I am able, to make sense of my chaotic notes and share the name of each chosen sacrifice -- ideally before the volcano blows! Though there were varying accounts as to how violent an eruption would be, one thing was certain -- it is something I hope never to witness!

I am sharing this story with you now because I have determined the identity of the Second Life Resident chosen by Mt. G'al. It is with the utmost urgency that I pass on to you the command of G'al -- heed this demand or suffer the consequence!

Mt. G'al proclaims: "Bring me Zephiri Xevious by Friday August 2nd, 5:00 PST or face your doom"

Dearest Friends,

My deepest thanks go out to you all! The people of Second Life have obeyed the command of G’al, and the fearsome volcano appears satisfied – for the moment, at least.

That we have escaped the wrath of G’al must certainly be blessing on us all, but in the deepest recesses of my heart, I regret that the volcano did not explode. Visions of fire and rock bursting forth from the mountain and showing the valleys in an awesome display of nature’s primal fury haunt my dreams. I have become convinced that eruption is the destiny of G’al; I worry that providing the volcano with its sacrifice is, in essence, usurping the proper order of this world.

It’s all madness, of course. The demands of G’al must be met. Something in this land has infected me – a tropic fever, surely, has inflamed my body. A wiseman assures me that there is a cure to this malady. I am beset, he tells me, with fiery humours in the blood – a condition that can only be remedied by introducing an icy counterpart. There is a place, he says, but the journey will be long and hard.

A place where snow and ice have taken hold of the land, where even the trees shine white in the heatless rays of a mocking, cold sun. I will endeavor to find this frigid land and, fates be willing, report back to you.

Yours Faithfully,

Magellan