Not As It Was Made

Vaklir of now is not as it was made.

The firelings raised volcanoes to boil the sea and when it fell from the sky to cleanse the Cloud Knives of the Zora it carved a new sea at their base, and their bodies choked its terrible fjords. Their spirits haunt the narrow inlets still.

Men and Gaiar razed the land of Zoran with terrible weapons, turning trees to ash and fusing the ground into rock. Now, centuries later, a plants have returned to The Blast. Pray the Zoran never do.

When the third moon fell from amongst the stars, shattering in the sky to pull the Zill-Ta Isles from the sea, and crash the sea into the land, the A’alrid were blamed. But all fought for the silva that painted them. Now all know the fear of the A’alrid’s curse that claims every third born.

Someday the truth of how the Lal-toh stole men from beyond the vault of the stars to build their skyships will become legend. Until that century comes and the beyond-men return the skyships hang in the the sky, still as flies in amber.

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