|Caspar David Friedrich|
There are those who have always followed their own way, eschewing temples of crafted stone for a more basic connection to the earth and all that dwell on it and within it. Here and there scattered across the land are monuments as old as the earth. To these places come those that shun the cities of men. People of the deep wood, of the mountains, and of the rivers. And the people of the sky, the Gryphonym. It is best to leave these places undisturbed, as forces deep and strong dwell within them, with little tolerance for the intrusion of the ignorant.
There are those who pursue such knowledge as an entertaining endeavor, and are drawn to power as moths to a flame. It is well that such men should be thwarted, as the forces that they toy with are far beyond their imagining.
Ever they will toil, prodding and probing as children in the dark. Yet the light they discover will all too often be the searing flames that scorch the soul.
Whether their goals are good or ill matters not, for when vengeance strikes it takes no heed of intention.
There are those who have kept the secrets, passed down one to another in lineage unbroken. And though some great measure of what was once known has been lost, they do not idly call upon the forces that wait just beyond the veil of worlds, nor do so with a light heart. Desperate are they who barter with ones of such knowledge, and many are the sorrowful souls who were granted their heart's desire.
Finally are the priests of the temples, who seek to impose the will of the gods on man. Yet many are the priests who instead impose their own will, either through arrogance or through the cunning of deceitful spirits with sweet voices. The wrath of the gods may slumber, yet strike swiftly when awoken.