Magick is the manifestation of will, all seen and felt bent and conjured by those cast out from the realm of Paradise. Singers, shapers, and shifters make themselves a place, but the precariousness of their strength traipses a fickle acceptance. Too few survive and blood's promise holds no more. Yet those of its power fade, the flow ebbed as balance shifts. The Frithir have begun to whisper that their reign slips into silence.
Echoes have begun to cry.
~*~
Drinian, the Raven King, fears the pull of corruption: the Lords of the Mountains build themselves into isolation; the Twins bicker in their realm of ice; none hear beyond the deserts where some say a gilded cage lies. However, he's not alone, his soul shared. Whatever peace he knew, whatever desires lingered, find themselves eclipsed as another old soul washes up from the Wellspring at the heart of Fallen Glade.
The dæmons gather on the rise as their Mother coos to them a song of promise: Paradise sings to them of what was lost.
(Currently includes world building information, wikia-like entries, and plot points... I need to make a cover at some point...)