Happy anniversary, <NAME>. 2 years is quite an accomplishment. Almost as accomplished as the 13.8 billion years the Neverborn have lain dormant in our universe, their insatiable hunger growing, stirring them ever closer to wakefulness. At times they have reached out in their sleep, and where their alien presence has touched our reality, tragedy has unfolded. Roanoke. Easter Island. The mass extinction of the dinosaurs. These were the results of the stygian depths of their consciousness alighting upon our world.
They hunger, <NAME>. They hunger for life. And only through constant sacrifice can we keep them dreaming of blood and thunder and conquest and a brackish wave that sweeps the universe and scours worlds to cold orbs of bare stone. They are the rising tide and no price is too steep to defend ourselves against them. Your two years makes you an ideal candidate for this purpose. It is your duty. Know that you purchase everyone another day of living in unbridled, abject terror of the horrors that dwell outside of our comprehension, at the edges of sanity. Another day to attempt to fathom the interminable, lightless void that is the ravenous maw of these beasts. Another day of despair.