AN EXCERPT ; SUBJECT TO CHANGE The Fourth Kingdom Of Yore; The Lost King Of The Forgotten Dwarves. In the depths of the mountains over plains and hills, resided a mine worthy of history. Full of riches and ores, and a hearty race known as the dwarves. No man or elf for that matter, was as heartfelt for their kin as the dwarves. They would fight to the death in the name of honor, and through their stone-like stubbornness a dwarf was never afraid to die for his brothers, and you could never convince them that it was anything other than honorable. Deep within this mountain's caves, past all the muddy mazes of dark and wet tunnels. was the mine's grandiose entrance that stood stories high fashioned in an impeccable pristine obsidian marble seemingly Crafted with the love of the mountain. From it's grand archway that stood at the entrance to the ancient mines. Stood two statues of the Garnetcrusher brother's. Myrddin has bright blue eyes, ...
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.