Nathrangking

Here is #44

Strains Reformed 

Waters carrying a blessing most divine rush upon feet of crystal through valleys and hills carved by hands long gone. The primordials that mortals once worshipped and relied upon to raise from the dust cities and empower them to wage war against their enemies have themselves gone to faraway realms of sleep. Where they are none can say, but the beauty of the rising and setting sun or the passing of the seasons is dulled so that they are very nearly void despite the icy magic that is keeping the land from crumbling into the most horrific sort of hellscape. Dregs from the very soul of this world are what remain. Tears are drenching the whole of the cosmos drowning the flora and chasing away even the mightiest of titans that would once have uprooted mountains at a whim. Haunting dirges weave a tapestry over the slowly dying world sealing a realm so lost that even the smallest spark of hope is long since snuffed out by the rising rivers expended by those who mourn. 

Up above despite the utter devastation a stirring of light dances in the shadows and begins to chase away the deep despair that is a shroud nay a second skin grafted into the very being of this dimension. It counters sorrowful screams with tunes first soft and comforting and then ever stronger and more invigorating than ever before. Each note lifts away agony and desolation instilling might in cowed kingdoms that now rebuild so much that has been forgotten. In the streets where rubble and whimpering existed now are the sweetest of songs that inspire and produce images of magnificence that seem too surreal to have ever been imagined by human minds. Radiant palaces, gardens, and every other manner of royal amenity become the stuff that ascends from the ruins of the old world. Aria that is above and below your musician is hidden yet their magnificence shall reign forevermore.