by There was a time before the Daemon cult ruled over Ny'Alotha. None alive now remember, but there was a time where there was relative peace. The Gods, the Faiths, whatever their people called them - They were pleased.
But all at once, the children of the wildland were dropped from grace. One day they forgot who to thank, and the Gods never let them forget again. They tore at the land; The great mountains burst into flames and covered the land in ash, and their bountiful, beautiful world grew colder, it became harsh.
Those buried under the molten earth soon broke through, now husks of what they once were. They wandered, but never far, their shells made of burning earth. For those left, they were nothing but ghosts.
Through the haze, Daemons amassed. They begged for their gods, but the sky was silent to their pleas. It was too late; Now they had to repent.
But all at once, the children of the wildland were dropped from grace. One day they forgot who to thank, and the Gods never let them forget again. They tore at the land; The great mountains burst into flames and covered the land in ash, and their bountiful, beautiful world grew colder, it became harsh.
Those buried under the molten earth soon broke through, now husks of what they once were. They wandered, but never far, their shells made of burning earth. For those left, they were nothing but ghosts.
Through the haze, Daemons amassed. They begged for their gods, but the sky was silent to their pleas. It was too late; Now they had to repent.
