GreyWrite

I t had been 734 Alternations since Kaltaril had seen this place, his home from a life nearly forgotten. Time had merely swept it away. Cautiously, He entered the cavern, and looked about the hall. The rows of mighty pillars had weathered, and the walls had grown cold. The very air contained an absence, the residue of memory, the last notes of songs no longer sung. Such a mark can always be found in a place where there had once existed life. In places where it had woven its fibers deep amongst the fabric, all to be firmly separated and to fade away. It leaves but a shell, some hallowed place; that like the sea beating upon the shore, is left to sink beneath the surface. Remembered only by some great creator. To be turned as soil is turned; to be made a new at the dawn of another spring. Light spilled into the barrow from the newly unearthed passage at Kaltaril’s back. Its illumination was only enough to see the area immediate to him. No longer did he see the banners of his kin han

T he rider had seen Eshadria, the smaller of twin suns, alone in the sky once before. It cast a glow across the floor of his ramshackle hut. Golden rays danced upon the red dust of the dead world beyond his doorstep. He longed to just pass away from this place, and let his tired body of his become another statue in the hall of the dead. That is all this place had in store for anybody. Despair, and a passing of the light beneath the veil. Penance paid to the mother for centuries of sin. Squinting his eyes he gazed out towards the light as it rested upon the crest of the Maheydara mountains in the distance. Half hidden by the darkened peaks, it raged against the approaching shadow. Between the spires and beneath the toxic clouds it casts its light. Oh, how it shined. He breathed deeply through the tattered scarf covering his face. He could almost feel the dying star's warmth prickling his skin. Closing his eyes he remembered why he must go on, why he must survive. In the eye of his m