by Vehyor
"Now, the wild winds of Gandrodi blow once more… As the shadows hiding in Yafren forests are becoming scorched, even the reign of tyrants who sank their claws into Nimgad is shaking. Every corner of the island kingdoms trembles with the message of the ancient messenger. The cold breath of time is walking; the stone roads of the Zifars mountains are witnesses to its steps. The hunter opens his eyes in a grove sometimes, or in the middle of shadowy storms in turn. He hears the voices of his old comrades sometimes, or sees the despair of his pallid enemies. And a story of an invasion occurs on pages, just before it fades away. Because the lifespan of the truth is very short, it has always been so. That’s why people have used stories for centuries. Some, to extend this very short life of the truth; and some, to conceal, veil, and even to distort truths. Even so, some traces remained on the walls of distant caves. And they were called prophecies. Some of them were telling of light and darkness; they were narrating death and life, without making any fuss, very calmly." -Letter to the Mountain of Elders, Yafren - (There is no date on it) ~ “Lives spread across Gandrodi on the endless rivers of time. While the waters are rising, shallops and dinghies approach the docks of some, but they beg for big sailing ships. When everything is over, let alone any boat to board, there isn’t any branch to hold. Some others are deceived by the burning flame in their hearts and throw themselves into the floodwaters. The flame within them flutters a few times before dying out; then, time wrenches off whatever is left.” -The Wanderer ~ “It was strange that humanity would tell sad stories, draw sorrowful pictures, and sing touching songs about its own deeds.” -The Historian ~
No streak history
