Land of the Zorgers. An ancient world, shaped by war and storms. Here, the dunes sing forgotten tales, and the winds carry the echoes of past battles.
Once, Zorthar was a jewel of water and life.
The Hydraxians. Once lords of the tides, masters of the abyss. They danced with the waves, whispered to the storms, bent the oceans to their will. Water slipped through their fingers like a broken promise. But their thirst had no end.
They drank. Swallowed the waves, siphoned the rains, drained the horizon dry. It was no longer a planet but a carcass. A dehydrated sphere, emptied, forgotten.
So the Zorgers passed judgment. A simple, merciless sentence. Stay here. Look at what you have done. Prisoners of a tomb of dust, condemned to listen to the silence of what they destroyed.
And while they wander, parched and aimless in their own desert, the Zorgers work. To make the waters flow again. To make the wind sing once more. But the Hydraxians will never hear its melody again.
angulaire
Land of the Zorgers. An ancient world, shaped by war and storms. Here, the dunes sing forgotten tales, and the winds carry the echoes of past battles.
Once, Zorthar was a jewel of water and life.
The Hydraxians. Once lords of the tides, masters of the abyss. They danced with the waves, whispered to the storms, bent the oceans to their will. Water slipped through their fingers like a broken promise. But their thirst had no end.
They drank. Swallowed the waves, siphoned the rains, drained the horizon dry. It was no longer a planet but a carcass. A dehydrated sphere, emptied, forgotten.
So the Zorgers passed judgment. A simple, merciless sentence. Stay here. Look at what you have done. Prisoners of a tomb of dust, condemned to listen to the silence of what they destroyed.
And while they wander, parched and aimless in their own desert, the Zorgers work. To make the waters flow again. To make the wind sing once more. But the Hydraxians will never hear its melody again.