After the tuning, a unique thing began for a lonely little tribe of people. They had fled the madness of the wizards and braved the ever-changing landscape. Whether it was divine intervention or mere happenstance, I could not say. But these once strangers became their own tribe. As they began to build homes and try to survive, like many, they would pray. But unlike all of humanity before them, their prayers were answered.  

 

Homes were built, and crops were grown. Within three generations, the tribe was thriving and living well, never bothering to ask the simple question: Who was answering these prayers? Stability gave way to sloth, and sloth opened the doors to their souls.   No longer content, people prayed for immortality, but for once, nothing happened. Their prayers went unanswered.  Those who never even considered immortality now desired it more than anything.   All these poor wretches knew was when they wanted something, they got it. Now filled with a new sensation of not having what one desires, the tribe prayed as one.

 

Over the next three days, they prayed and supplicated on their knees. Then, without warning, a gate shimmered and opened, with the sound of winter surrendering to summer. All held their breath for three heartbeats before the gate disappeared, with the sound of Autumn surrendering to Winter. As it disappeared, it left a statue.  It was metal and looked like a man built from the old world’s machines. 

 

The Elder placed his hands on the statue, gasping as all his arthritis and pains disappeared. With this, everything became good again, and the tribe learned nothing from its mistakes. The corruption grew, and the people changed. Then the day came, and their miracle stopped working.  They tried everything to make it work once more. All seemed lost as people withered and died.  The panic gripped them so tightly that fights broke out, and one man ended another. The victor stood over the man gloating. As he was about to turn and leave, some of the dead man's essence had pooled touching the statue. And the old glow from the statue returned but only briefly while the man’s essence flowed into it. 

 

The people of the Crys were born on this day.