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I cannot tell you about the beginning, but I can speak to you of a beginning.

Our gods came to us in the time before memory, before our remembering. They offered us a bargain, life in exchange for our servitude. We supplied their needs: the sacrifices, the venerations. They in turn did not consume us.

We destroyed our way across this world, consuming people after people, nation after nation, all chained and led into the maw of our ever hungry gods. We dreamed of death and fire and blood and never questioned our right to survive at the expense of others.

Dreams end, and we awoke at the very edge of a decimated world. Realizing our sins the Speakers among us, those who could hear the gods’ instructions, hatched a plan. Through sacrifice and the working of great magicks they sent our gods into a slumber from which they cannot wake themselves. Those of our people who remained when the deed was done took up the watch, dwelling in the heart of ruin, the Howling Gods’ Mouth to keep watch over them as they slumber.

The nations beyond our desert believe that we hate them, but that is not so. We dwell here in penance, we kill those who travel too far into our lands as a mercy to both them and their families, we tend the desert and watch it change so slowly. We wait for the day that the last of our gods passes in its sleep.

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The Gardens of Ourakilos Quietside