Choigard had once been a divine paradise, the refuge of the Singers and embodiment of their prowess. The streets were winding and intricate, a network of seamlessly fused grey stone. Temples of hues too bright to behold in sunlight towered hundreds of feet high, fluted towers and arched bridges connected the upper landings of manses. Public pools and fountains in the shape of mermen and griffons and flaming lions bedecked each corner and no weary travelers were refused their comforts.
The city rang with laughter and the soft patter of bare feet of playing children. Thousands of tongues mingled as traders exchanged wares in the One Market. Tournaments were held between warriors and warlocks, sorcerers, demigods and fierce beasts. And all paid homage to the Mothers of Song, the Sacred Order, the shapers of this world and most powerful beings under the heavens.
Now we are six old women in a decaying Arcadia. Yet we built this world. We must suffer the consequences of creation and atone for the follies of man. But we are too few. Too few.
Gretchel closed her eyes and tried to clear her restless mind. One. Peace. She took a deep breath, chest rising and falling, muscles relaxing. Peace...One...Peace. I am of all. The web of life...The web of stars...We are one. One. Peace. Another deep breath, another. One...Peace...One. She opened her mind's eye and beheld the cosmos. She was but a speck within a void of endless stars, planets and moons, comets and asteroids.
Some planets were gaseous giants with raging winds and countless rings, some were molten clumps of magma, others completely submerged in water or ice. The stars were infinite, many imploding on themselves and ripping the fabric of space itself, more just being born in bursts of blinding radiance. Her consciousness lingered in abyss while the universe worked its wonders.