To whom it may concern:
I hardly know where to begin as I compose myself to write this letter. The lighting is poor in my chamber and the bedlam outside is almost overwhelming. What I am about to say may shock some of you. Perhaps even to the point of alienating my fellow brother and sister Wayists.

Recent events have forced me to endure a very abrupt change. Those with a cynical turn of mind might even call it a reverting to form. I would not. The fact that I am a Magog cannot be denied, but I am also a brother Wayist.

While many assume that the two cannot exist side by side, for years I have been proof that the Way can break down any barriers. For years I have dedicated my life to proving that to be the case.

All it took was the attack on my home, my ship, the Andromeda Ascendant, incited by the god of the Magog's, the thing, the entity known as The Abyss, and now I am known as Red Plague. It is not an identity that I have embraced wholeheartedly. During the attack I felt alone and confused by the sirens, heat and explosions ringing in my ears.

I passed the ship's avatar Rommie: her chest caved in by a pole rammed through the center. I could do nothing to assist her, or my fellows.

The leader whispered insidious words to convince me of our shared ancestry, that our past would pave the way to a new future for our race, and some part of me, perhaps a part that I had always denied existed, welcomed it. Am I two people, Brother Bartholomew Far Traveller must die so that Red Plague may life. I shudder at that, however I must not let my doubts or my growing misgivings and fears show on my face or in my actions. The leader is already growing suspicious, if he is not so already.

I set my pen down because the leader has arrived to lead me on a tour of the Magog Worldship.

The gigantic concstruct is an astonishing sight. It is as huge as two small moons joined together at the hip, if you will pardon such a metaphor.

I still find myself in awe that my race has managed to construct such a lethal, gigantic but still somehow delicate piece of technology. The place is quite literally swarming with Magog soldiers. I fear for the other races of the galaxy when this world planet swoops down upon them.

I followed where the other leads me.

To be honest with myself, if to no one else, holding the gun on my friend, Mr. Harper, hands curled in a white knuckled sweaty grip, I could have taken his life and hardly blinked an eye.

Luck or fate, or the Divine, saw fight to intercede on my behalf and sent Captain Dylan Hunt and the remaining members of his crew to save the day at the eleventh hour.

And I found myself agreeing with Dylan, when remarked on the occasion of the Abyss feeling the effects of the nova bomb's explosion, 'At least somebody else is having as bad a day as mine." It was gallows humor, but at least he still retained his, and perhaps the Divine, whom I still believe in, has other plans for me that I cannot see at the moment.

I conclude this letter, which perhaps will never be sent to its intended recipients. I lay my pen, but before I do, I write one final line 'The Divine is good, it is like air; it is like water.' -Rev Bem