Barely had the first reverse-rainstorm surged into the skies when
intense headaches were visited upon numerous mortals across the Basin.
Though initially dismissed as a side effect of the new weather patterns,
this line of thinking was quickly dispelled as soon as a mysterious
voice, speaking the ritual tongue of the Elders, addressed them in their
moments of cranial discomfort. Though the voice was unintelligible at
first, it soon became clear that it was approaching the splinter races
in an attempt to contact who it believed were their Elder Progenitors.
When it was informed that these Gods were no more, it assumed the worst
and accused all mortals of being servants of the Soulless.

Through the tireless work and inexhaustible patience of many mortals,
including Riluna L'Eternae of the Serenwilde, Vivet Pavok of Hallifax,
and Lavinya d'Murani of Magnagora, it was eventually made clear to the
voice what the situation in Lusternia actually is: The Soulless had not
triumphed, the battle was still ongoing, and, though the Progenitors
were no longer whole, They lived on through Their children. In time, the
voice revealed itself to be another Elder; trapped for eons in a refuge
of His own design. Though He had slumbered for most of that time, a
recent disturbance had shaken Him awake, allowing Him to extend His
conciousness across His creations: the transplanar devices. Though He
now wished to return to the First World, the self-same disturbance which
first awoke Him was also preventing His exit. For the time being, all
that could be done was to watch and wait.

After the Anas'im'aeklas had vanquished the lucidian climatologists from
their laboratory, one object of note remained: an ornate box crafted of
precious metals and rare woods which depicted two beautiful beings
traveling the landscapes of Celestia and Shallamar. But barely had this
work of art been found that the Mysterious Presence descended unto the
valley and completely obliterated the cube. Its objective seemingly
nothing more than vandalism, the Presence departed, not even waiting for
the heat from its attack to dissipate.

Instead of dust and ash, however, what now occupied the space where the
cube once hovered was a forged-metal device of cyclopean dimensions.
Crafted of thousands of moving segments, all that would happen when the
gathered mortals attempted to examine it was a teeth-shaking clanging
noise. Yet this was enough to attract the attention of the wayward
Elder. Free of its decorative casing, the device was sensed once more by
its creator, the God who revealed Himself to be Yomoigu, the Pyresmith.

Penned by My hand on the 18th of Avechary, in the year 370 CE.