The Silver Tower on the shores of Totensee

Where the plains of the heathens meets waves of an inland see, lies a town. A town named for the son of Krim. Not Livare, the soulless, but His second son.

Majahi Hamare Majahi!

In the name of Yoham they built a tower of pure silver. There it stands tall on the shores, shining ever gray!

Hail that monk ancién!
He who danced with death!
Yoham!
You have grown old!

Ayem Ayem Ohm!

From the eastern wanderer Ville, wild and wailing, we have this song, which may well bring us to the silver tower and tragic monk:

Pray for Livare
Pray at Hamare
Pray at that Temple to Truth

Walk for Livare
Walk by the seashore
Walk through the fields

Sing for Livare
Sing for each fracture
Sing for that broken soul

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The Golden Spires of El-Fahir

When the world was young, the Sister Kings of El-Fahir decreed the construction of seven golden spires: seven sister, seven spires. The Jealous Man heard their command, and in his pale pride decided to build for himself an eight spire at the very center of the city El-Fahir. As he stroked his long mustaches, brushed his thight beard, sent his slaves to the Gold mines, he sang in a whisper:

This spire, my desire
Will shine so tall and true

This spire, built higher
Will shame the sisters seven

This spire, my fire
Will grant my crown at last

Now it is but distant memory, and there is not one, nor seven, nor eight towers, but none. El-Fahir, fair kingdom, oasis among endless sands, has also joined with its unrelenting environs, those cruel, slow waves of hot dust. Was it you, Jealous Man, who doomed fair ‘Fahir? Or was it, as the Gambler and the Angels murmur and whisper and sing through tales, the spring-born Sister Kings who quarreled and warred from towers seven? Only the Snake knows the truth, but all his words are slithering lies.

Ah, who am I to say, who I am to judge? Those towers, that far and frightening City and its cruel, cruel prisons. It is Jealousy, only Jealousy …