Return to Story Vignettes Darkness in Omishan To the Tumerok, the land is sacred. It is the source of their power, but it is also much more… a living thing, home to the spirits of whom they commune. Every tree, every stone, every pool speaks to them. It is only fitting that they chose the purest places to bury their own dead. For the Tumerok, there is no greater honor than to return to the land. Their burial grounds were sacrosanct, and tempting targets for corruption. In time, a new magic came to the land… A magic not of creation of life, but of blight and decay. Jungles turned dark and twisted, swamplands fetid and grim. The spirits wailed in agony, their cries echoing among the tormented trees. The Burun won a subtle war… not of steel and flame, but of pestilence and rot. Bu
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| - AC2:Story Vignettes/Darkness in Omishan
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| rdfs:comment
| - Return to Story Vignettes Darkness in Omishan To the Tumerok, the land is sacred. It is the source of their power, but it is also much more… a living thing, home to the spirits of whom they commune. Every tree, every stone, every pool speaks to them. It is only fitting that they chose the purest places to bury their own dead. For the Tumerok, there is no greater honor than to return to the land. Their burial grounds were sacrosanct, and tempting targets for corruption. In time, a new magic came to the land… A magic not of creation of life, but of blight and decay. Jungles turned dark and twisted, swamplands fetid and grim. The spirits wailed in agony, their cries echoing among the tormented trees. The Burun won a subtle war… not of steel and flame, but of pestilence and rot. Bu
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| abstract
| - Return to Story Vignettes Darkness in Omishan To the Tumerok, the land is sacred. It is the source of their power, but it is also much more… a living thing, home to the spirits of whom they commune. Every tree, every stone, every pool speaks to them. It is only fitting that they chose the purest places to bury their own dead. For the Tumerok, there is no greater honor than to return to the land. Their burial grounds were sacrosanct, and tempting targets for corruption. In time, a new magic came to the land… A magic not of creation of life, but of blight and decay. Jungles turned dark and twisted, swamplands fetid and grim. The spirits wailed in agony, their cries echoing among the tormented trees. The Burun won a subtle war… not of steel and flame, but of pestilence and rot. But by sword or spell, the end is the same. The Tumeroks' sacred grounds have fallen. As long as the Burun remain, the land will go on weeping.
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![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)