Lakes of Blood and Ash
Glitter Flame: Ab'Hichaya
He who polished his horn on the earth.
The legend of Ab’Hichaya is told throughout the desert. The being that carved the great crack in the desert, a horned god with lowered head that saw the sand of the Glitter Flame as nothing more than something to polish his horn. Straight and true he charged and cut a line a hundred leagues long. Here he rest to trade stories in the tongue of the earth with those he had bested. He invited too the wandering tongues of the water to spread his tales and air as well. The ballads grew more boastful and the gods of water lingered to hear more, their burdens of water laid down, a great river flowed in the depths and where azure and vermillion met, emerald burst from the land. Spirits of wood came to listen in the great Bowl of Colors, but this was long ago and the wind betrayed it all. Boasting themselves Ab’Hichaya’s better and cursing his stories old and tired. They struck down the spirits of water and the Bowl of Color began to decay and crumble.
The old beast rose then, shaking off the sand and dust of centuries to test the sharpness of his horn against the desert wind. He proved the sharper and now air spirits seldom test the old god of the canyon, the air there still and stagnant. The water he guards is the source for countless oasis south of the Glass Road, though the timid spirits of water never returned in such number as they once did. The god rests now in the shattered Bowl of Color, his voice tired and those who would listen few. Instead he looks out to the desert and a world changing, to the monks that wander the road and the dispassionate heavens and wonders, “Will those past glories ever be again…”
The mortals carry his tales now, thought they tell them with the sharpness and skill of a child ladling at his soup with a spoon. The world is different than it was, now strength is drawn from those passing sparks of celestial fire, the flame long gone out in the world that was.