The 13th century was born in strangulation. The strangulation of the akphaezyan forests and seas. Human deserts, the greatest of the 14 kingdoms, became, with the new queen's face, a curse for its people. its armies, conquering the last woods in the north east, spread a burning dead sand on elves and centaurus phantom civilisations. It was as if Shyrya's ambition had grown with the last cycles of the twin suns...
For years, the confraternity of the crimson-eyed priests had been hearing the same poem... A poem cried by some dead souls in the hand of life!
«Tyro, incarnation of Natural divinities,
Sorrows for lands in agony,
Since each tear is a fallen tree
In the abyss of the golden sea.»
What followed came with its hopes, its pains... Some lessons for a lot of mysteries, but remember... Akphaezya has never cried a secret to those who smile with no respect.
For years, the confraternity of the crimson-eyed priests had been hearing the same poem... A poem cried by some dead souls in the hand of life!
«Tyro, incarnation of Natural divinities,
Sorrows for lands in agony,
Since each tear is a fallen tree
In the abyss of the golden sea.»
What followed came with its hopes, its pains... Some lessons for a lot of mysteries, but remember... Akphaezya has never cried a secret to those who smile with no respect.