The Second King of Yore: The Rotting Kingdom Of the Plagued Snow Elves. I: A Haunting Odyssey As one calamity rises-and-falls, another is only bound to transpire, ever too soon. Little did the mortals know, they would cherish these simple days, in dark days to come, they will pray to have these days back in their arms. Ah, alas, foolish dreaming won't stop the sun from rising, that none of the poor mortals happened to hope for. Far to the north of the bubbling bogs, past forests that have no end, past hellishly deep desert canyons that know only the driest, most physically testing of climates. There lies a mountain range, unlike any other. The daunting peaks were undiscovered, penetrating through the gloomy rain-bloated clouds above. Vaea, snapped her flawless fingers of starlight, and yelped, “astral eggs!” Weaving her hand in a circular motion around an invisible point on the center of The now repaired balcony. No repairs can erase the...
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.