Oh great RNG we beseech thee, that thou mayst bestow upon us with thy might the blessed dust upon which all things are built, without which our bellies do grumble, our minds do slow and even our generators cease their machinistic churnations. Praised be the merchants who live and die by your hand. Praised be the factories from which your magic flows. Praised be the forgotten pile uncovered in the dark. And praised be the speck, torn from the bodies of the fallen. Should ever a day rise that your great saint, your only son, Peter Pan, dost come to us in the darkness and teach us of your ways, that heroes may generate minute amounts of dust by operating machinery in the crystal room then we could possess the agency through which to determine our own fates. Until that day, we shall, as ever, toil in the enduring unknown, willing slaves to your work in prayer and in praise.



Amen.