The Falling Flames

“From the bowels of Kraz’khar we searched, mining down the golden depths. The bright-red ores in the forges, the dripping white hot liquid metal, falling flames over our heads. The greatest smiths that ever lived had lived within those deserted mines, until the time had come when all the ores and veins had dried up. We searched and scoured the nethermost pits, the crags, the cracks, the caved-in and the dangerous magma-halls. Not a thread of iron or copper, not even a piece of tin. The forges were dry, the last flames had burned.” – Kester Rose.


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