<font:Arial:16>      It was a fateful day when first I set foot upon that abandoned world.  My eyes scanned the taut horizon for the particle-trails of dropships, but no sign of mortal meddling could be discerned.
      I had come here to settle a score: an unending and primal debate which raged throughout the creaking ages of this unwholesome universe, a wager which continues to touch the infinite heart of every undying Omphr.  At the core of the argument is a question: who has the bigger sword?
      It was extraordinarily childish, but when you’ve seen forty quantum-cascade plumes ravage the intestines of multifarious galaxies, lived out the life-span of a million epic poets, travelled beyond eight-dimensional comprehension, loved, lost, murdered, farted and eaten enough meals to sustain the population of a star-system, you really learn the relevance of relative significance.  Who makes the best fajitas, what shirt to wear, and this stupid argument about a sword: those become the cosmic woes and trials of an unending soul.
      And Burns was bloody wrong.  My sword was bigger.