Watch for hollow eyes and vacant stares,
clever words woven freely without a care,
misfortune follows foolish fumbled steps,
yet for every suffering they are no less,
beware the tracks of anguished tears,
trails of the soulless, who show no fear.
– The Broken-Ones, circa 30 B.E.
Rhaeus 26th, 655 E.R.
Scattered small towns in western Corinthia welcomed a caravan gladly, but none held them longer than a day. A pace hurried on, with an urgency to be done with the latest risky venture. Yet, wildlands seemed an exaggeration. It wasn’t a desert. No raging elementals to be seen, tearing across hill and plain. Most of it was quite lovely really. A shallow rolling countryside, interspersed with white granite mesas, carved away in some past epoch. Some even topped in dense green forests no foot could ever easily reach.
Old ruins stood along the road, many overgrown with fresh foliage. Entire ancient cities, and castles abandoned, or populated by a handful of reclusive hermits. Most had left centuries ahead of the scar, the whole region almost bled dry of people. Among those who remained, a suppressed sense of Clarion influence could be felt in most towns. Ones who did not speak openly of their faith, for Lycia controlled the region by law. While Corinthians had fled, foreigners had come. Gathered to lived near the Scar, to pilgrimage there. Even to act as guides to the doorstep of the fallen capital, and a shrine built to countless dead, and the Avatar’s rise.
Continue reading “Chapter III:15”