The Dagger

A large and forbidding peninsula half a day’s march north of Deyet. Purportedly haunted, even the Coastal Road itself veers off it’s normal course to avoid venturing too far out. A tall and unkempt hedge, spotted with wards made by common folk runs along the western side of the road.

A small rutted path leads to it’s western most tip, more than a mile out. A large rise, the highest on the peninsula, sits a hundred yards or so from the edge. Atop this rise once stood a mighty structure of some sort. All that is left of it is a cracked and broken foundation and the scattering of shattered stone. In the middle of this foundation, it’s roots further ripping up the huge pavers, rises a monstrous tree. Before the base of this tree lie two slabs of what is almost petrified wood. Carved into their faces are runes in dated but readable Naxian:

When the last cursed man from the World has gone

Our Mistress of Nature will surely live on

Yes without them to carve her Melora will live

They take and take from her and in return little give

For their rape of the land they are made to pay

What goes around comes around as some do say

Melora for her extinct enemies need not lament

The Carrhai came and the Carrhai went

She gives life and the remains of the dead receives

And in the face of death neither laughs nor grieves

But long after the last man from the World has gone

Melora the Immortal will be living on.


The last drop of rain has finally fallen.

A faint whisper so clear amidst bloodied skies.

Floating to a tune, bittersweet yet solemn.

Carrhai closed their eyes and witnessed not her demise.

Softly, she lay in the arms of the noon breeze.

Cradled like a baby, sweet and innocent.

Her Mother, Melora, wailed along with the burning trees;

Cries were made to the skies, strong and fervent.

Although they were heard by creatures great and small,

Carrhai were deaf and continued their ways supine.

They mused at their brilliance, gods above all.

Faultless in their ways too perfect and sublime.

The day came when they were thrown from their pedestal.

Along with this world they had claimed to be theirs.

The last drop of rain purer than their Crystal

Is the mountains’ farewell, a final kiss nature shares.

In silence, we waved goodbye and watched her fall.

The river bared her bosom and received her.

Engulfed in black filth—her innocence and all.

Gone Naxia; gone Carrhai. Gone together.

The Dagger

From the Ashes Nazridex