benlehman

The people of Polaris are rarified, strange, beautiful, and doomed. The sip starlight nectars from icicle cups and dance in the name of their own destruction. Their eyes shine starry like the wishes of sapphires and rubies. The world will never see their like again.

The players of Polaris are unique, imperfect, beautiful, and possessed of a terrifying genius. They speak words that call beyond history, the tell stories where there have never been stories, and they sing unburdened and clear beneath the weight of ten myriad impossibilities. Their play is like the last poem that a poet dare not write, for words will not strike the beauty of it. My world does not deserve their like.

Thanks, guys.