When in ancient days the black-headed retreated from the world, when, after days of war, the carrion birds circled, when graves were filled with the caskets, when the lone orphan plowed the barley--
--now at that time were the primordial patterns laid to rest, their masters banished. But just as the seeds of the next harvest are sown, so too did kings plot and plan for the next battle, did they scheme and make secret dealings.
Far to the east, where the sea and the mountains meet, is a cave dug out by the crashing waves. Here the kings conspired and set aside the greatest of primordial fires, Dingergisbar.
With its name as the key, it lays in wait, until that day when next masters of patterns again reap the harvest.
About the Note
This is a light-tan note written in Sudran