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Message: <blockquote data-quote="97mg" data-source="post: 7352103" data-attributes="member: 6799460">All: Sun rises in Kalair's fieldsThis is no average summer. For the past few days Marix Isle’s daylight sky has shifted to a permanent tinge of deepest yellow. The haze locks down a heat upon the land which seems to grow more thick and life-leaching with each passing breath.A hot wind gusts from the north as you tread one of Kalair’s seaside fields. Well, seaside with a sheer five hundred yard drop to a distant water’s edge. The grass beneath your feet, once green and filled with vigor, is dry and parched as you step towards the slowly rising sunlight of dawn. The landscape is truly flat and featureless, making the great tower far to your right appear even more powerful, and maybe even grotesque with it's vertical form clawing at the sky.Ahead, you catch sight of the only signs of life. The dark silhouette of a man and a slimmer, shorter person, eclipsed as shadows before the rising disc of the morning sun. Drawing closer you see that he is hard at work with a shovel, breaking up a section of earth before tossing it clump by clump to the side. Given the size of the pile, it seems he may have been at work here for quite some time.Closer still, you make out his features. A well-aged man with long strands of salty hair pouring from his head. Simple linen pants and shirt protect his time-withered skin from the heat of the sun, and a pair of bright, strangely youthful and alert eyes greets you as you near.These eyes are familiar to some of you. Their deep brown glimmer and life is reflected in the girl’s. Yes, a familiar face to some of the visitors. She stands beside him, turning to watch as you approach. It is none other than the young woman who charged down Kalair’s streets, causing quite a stir just those few weeks before.Her brown hair blows in the wind as she watches you. She seems better dressed this time, a black silken top and a pair of thin leather pants grace her well formed and run-loving legs. To her side lies a hessian sack, clearly full of something as it seems the stitching could easily burst.“Greetings!” She calls out, waving.“Let's be quick about it, the contracts,” the old man says, leveraging another shovel load of grit out from the dry ground.The young woman unties the sack, and from within draws out a handful of scrolls. One for each of the assembled.----- Dear Friend,It is with both fear and pride in our hearts that we ask this of you. We who have brought you to intersect this day are formed of both people you know, and strangers you shall likely never meet. Somewhere upon our wondrous Isle lies for each of you, somewhere, a soul with firm belief that your spirit, strength and heritage, is now to become a gift. Hidden from the workings of Dolstian Law we have always lingered, alert, aware, and ready for a generation when the very rulings of our leaders should work against us, the people. The dismissal of our great land’s truest beauty is a weakness. The repression of ancient arts has disarmed us. It was a price to pay for our times of peace, but those days are now on a  terminal path.Our enemy is no longer ourselves. We have learned through the great rebellions of the past, the shedding of sacred blood, that all might live as one. But now the one needs you, though they do not understand. The stories of the hillspeople have been confirmed, and if there was time we would show you how it was even foretold. But this is time we do not have. To protect our people we must abandon the laws of our people, and gather a quiet strength to fight The Sand’s threatening shift, before all we know, the very earth before your feet, also turns to granular dust.This young lady, Annit Caliorl and her father Gerralos, have been treading the path of our cause for quite some time. As did their ancestors. And the ancestors of their ancestors. Protecting secrets until a day like this may come.We ask you to help them in every way that you can. To assist them, in what we hope to be a simple confirmation of facts beneath this earth.In return, you may walk with a knowing that we, the silent ones, are watching over you. That we, the knowing ones may impart great knowledge to you. That we, the olden ones, bow to you with respect for all that may come to pass.We ask you to make a choice. Now. To accept your future as one who worked against a plague now threatening extinction. To work and live beyond the boundaries and prying eyes of Dolstian Laws for us, quietly and with purpose.Or to walk away, and never have your name written by us again. You will be forgotten, and allowed to live out these final days as you wish, though they may indeed be numbered.----- There is a small section at the base of the page, reserved for you to make your mark. By the time you have finished reading, Annit has dripped a traveler's quill in a small pot of ink. One by one she offers you the writing device and smiles.<If you haven't already, please make sure your current known spells and any non-standard equipment is listed on your sheets.></blockquote>

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