I had Uncle who collected news papers, he said that it was history, and that within that history was power.
That by knowing what happened in the past he could at least see the patterns of the future, like he was some prophet.
Truth was, he was an insane old man who had horded a garage and multiple storage units filled with useless papers stacked to the ceiling.
One day he goes to one of the storage units only to have the a tidal wave of papers collapse on his body, breaking his back in eight places.
Thankfully someone was around to hear his pained screams but he learned a much more powerful lesson from a wheel chair.
That being, “what you think is powerful can comeback to bite you in the ass”.
There is a supposed Collector who treats OSW like his very own garage, stuffing it full of his horded items.
Using those items he believes brings him influence to get a leg up on his opponents.
Sigil you accumulate tech and magic away using those horded objects as bargaining chips on occasion.
But you keep bringing in more and more, soon you won’t know what is of value, and what was is just some low powered junk.
Because, you’ll rationalize that it must mean something to someone. By the end of it all you’ll be drowning in it.
You see Sigil that tidal wave of refuse is on its way and you’re not going to survive it.
It will pull you under with every bit of power that you’ve “collected”, it will turn on you like uncontained and unbidden smothering you bringing you under its control.
Sigil, I am that power and you have Chronoa to thank for reminding me of that.
While, I have you to thank for drugging me, attempting to turn me over one of the goddamned dream protector, and to do what?
Weaken me, at one tenth my power Sigil you’re nothing to me but red powdered mist waiting to happen.
You see Sigil, I’ve read your book, I fully understand what you’re trying to do. You want me to just fall by the wayside of the might Collector, just like everyone else.
But here’s the thing Sigil, I’m not everyone else.
I’m the fucking Impaler, I’m Legion, I am a walking supernatural disaster, and you tried to have me put under just so you wouldn’t have to hear the emergency alter siren.
Now, because of your actions the instructions that will be provided to you after the signal will be to bend over, put your head between your legs, and kiss your ass goodbye.
There is no power that you have horded that can stop me.
You will fall and hard to me because, “I am Legion, for we are many”.
While you’re a pathetic broken man, scrambling to find that final bit of power that will allow you to do the one thing you wish you could do week… survive.