VIII: A Glass Kingdom’s Prosperity. The following morning the king approached his new subjects that he found ever so delightful, he strolled with a joyous hop, bouncing out of the palace doors, before him now stood a plethora of elves. Working on the homes they had promised, honoring their words. Mondisi glowing like the day before them, the soldiers slung their tools and hammers over their shoulders- taking notice of their suddenly healthy king. “Aye! our king isn't weary anymore! good tidings sire! And a swell rising we all hope!" The hearty elves hammering on the soon to be liveable homes, shouted. Everyone else in town whispered, confused and at a loss, how not a soul has mentioned the guards that have yet to return, that the king, if it even was him, rudely sent to their possible death. "don't worry about these homes, i'll gather some folk to take care of it- all of you however, I have a task, specifically for your set of ...
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.