We'll walk down the line
Leave our rain, a cold
Trade for warm sunshine.
-Alice in Chains
The name came in whispers, fading echoes and distant memories of jounreys past. The Plains of Aleion, the wanderer's empty, haunted heaven.
The massive gates hung worn and weathered. Stone glyphs rendered into cyphers by time and the elements.
The gentle scraping of boots on mossy stone is accompanied by the occasional haunting cry of birds in this lush loneliness.
Unfold the old map, onion-skinned and translucent with antiquity. Fingers trace carefully the inked passages, drifting over the old legends, and guiding eyes to the last of the Great Harbors...now a shattered, sunken ruin.
There comes a silence, so gentle and smooth it seems as if the world had always been as empty and pure. Motes sparkle in a wayward shaft of honey-colored light, and the air drifts, languidly.
Then comes a slight shift. A gentle carress as a teasing draft carries the smell of something both ancient and familiar. It is the smell of a promise, waiting to be kept.
Follow.
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