“You look out and see a robed ancient sorcerer, a laurel of green leaves around his brow, a sorcerous emperor holding out a hand and watching as slabs of stone some hundreds of feet long float through the sky as though floats in a parade. You see he looks out as people clap and applaud. And with this sustained magical effort, an act of telekinesis carrying some thousands of tons of stone across the horizon towards this end, you see them placed here. Consumed by the sand, this is the ancient homeland of the fallen, or what would be called the Sundered and Broken House of Calistra, the last members of which either have been in hiding for 70 years or indeed are all dead. Looking at this holy site here, you see the stones placed in a massive temple to Tansul that are, you know, commemorating his beneficence, the glory of the sun in this place, looking towards the west where the sun ever sets. You see, the stone regards you, speaking this word of power, the arcane, a memory of the stone when young comes to you. You see a young priest of the House of Halovar looking out, a massive brazier filled with shimmering oil, a massive brazier filled with shimmering oil, unlit, a wide golden pan suspended over an image of the god of the sun. The fire lights. And within it, the stone remembers the face of a living god. You speak to stone that saw the Shaper of humankind. A category you no longer belong to, though you once held that title.”
