IX: Repercussions of The White Past. All was quiet but the whistling wind that molested an unseen path, against the caverns walls, moving the water, in an erratic fashion. The knights, slowly wandered down the icy mountain, careful, to not trip and slip down the frigid path of hidden slopes. Down into the village that was once, a horrendously horrible bloodbath, to these clueless elvan knights on prideful missions by Mondisi’s demand. Brought in by the king’s request, on a later date than the massacre, positively unaware of the brother’s brutal squabble. This stroll through a ghost town was pleasant, for them, if it were the brothers, irrefutably, it would have been unfathomably nerve racking. It's always better to be ignorant, than scared of the truth, Manis knew this, and soon, Mondisi would too.. Broodth, was not a ghost town although, it may have seemed so. To these unsuspecting, snow elves, it made no difference. A young girl, who was now a young woman, screamed from
The page you find yourself reading, is the only documentation, the only accounts of a microcosm infected in a state of perpetual terminus. I, Ghloth The Astral, am one of the four, archaic observers, spawned into creation by the grand archaic ones- The Watchers. Three ages have come and passed, the only light that fills the sky, is the hope that some mortal, somewhere, reading this, might just be the next one to light this doomed lands, fading, and hopeless, worldly fire.