[center][h3] Lynn-Naraksh[/h3][/center]

	In the molten wasteland of craggy rocks and spires of metal, a young traveler stared wide eye at what stood before him. Under the curling clouds of smoke, in organization along a cracked plain of stone, an army of impossible length and width stood still. 

	Or well, an army of stone. As far as the young Lynn-Narakshian could see, nondescript soldier-statues carved out of stone stood, their faces blank and their bodies androgynous. Smoothed from their stony bodies were the details of incredible well designed armors, petrified like the rest of the statues. Their weapons also of stone frozen in scabbards of rock or hewn directly onto them in place of hands. As statues do, not one moved, not one lived.

As the adventurer approached the army, he found himself scared, the statues towering over him, [i]Who could have carved this?[/i] He wondered, his boots brushing through layers of stone dust, sanded from the masterpiece. Upon inspection of one of the statues he noticed it glowed a blood red wherever he hovered his hand over, but he dare not touch it in case it was hot. As he hand passed by the face, he jumped in surprise as it took the form of his own, if only briefly. After a few more hours of  cautious inspection and wonder, he decided it was about time he return home to tell his tale.