Many days and countless nights have come and gone in the lands of many peoples. Their rise and fall all seen so many times before, where great monuments become ruins and great ruins the foundations of a dawn which follows a folk’s greatest descent into a darkness. But only those who fear not that darkness rise again.
Only those who have a fire within them dare to stand against the weathering of time. As winds drive away the soil, and fire burns away old timbers, they are those who stand fast and see the opportunity of laying new and greater timbers to hold the monuments of tomorrow.
As the earth shudders and cracks, as the waters wash away what was, they are the peoples who lay the thicker foundations and walls to support the dreams of the next generations. And as the Arcane holds all in its unfelt grasp, the memories of previous victories and failures are held strong, and taught to guide and warn the young and inexperienced.
The greatest slight there is however, is one performed against kin and tradition. To forget what has been learned and experienced by blood. To say that those who came before knew nothing or little of how things are. To forsake all that one’s ancestors were and all they had to appease an idea or another whose merits are spoken of solely by those who insist such ideas are true.