The White City's Funeral

He reached out his has suddenly toward the city and he spoke. The sound reverberated through the lands, crowds, the sky. All would hear its vibrations across the ethereal, even those as far away as Isra and her city, "TOLMU!"

As if reacting to his will a wave of energy, pure and invisible, like a wave of wind across the grass shot at the black walls of the White City. It hit the 200 feet tall, 50 feet thick solid granite walls. The very essence of the stone seemed to shudder, a slight earthquake rumbling back to Aegon and the observers. Then the fell, the granite walls began to rupture, cracks appearing across their surface. The tops of the walls began give way, their form turning to black sand that floated about in the wind.

Then Aegon said his word again throwing his hand toward the city, and once again all did hear, "TOLMU!" The walls surrounding the city, turned to sand in an instant, the White city was exposed to the world. The first time since its creation, people could see it but none would see its glory. They would see its ruins, shattered and broken from fighting, their once mighty tower gone to ground.

Aegon said it a third time and with it he again threw his hand toward the city, "TOLMU!" And this city that was was no more, a white sand desert ringed with black. The materials he would use for his next word of power and give shape to his memorial... .

Aegon rose both arms up as his word left his lips, "TUUL!" The winds rose. Aegon's orbs flew toward the city, their white shadows as dragons in flight. They would dance around the city, at speeds so fast no one could keep track. They picked up speed, turning into a wide band of white energy, a small line of gold through the middle. The sands spun upward reacting to the magic being used. The white and black danced together forming a literal tornado of sand and when Aegon spoke again magic sparked between the sand practicals, "ENERGIA!" As he said the word he brought his hand down, drew them back to his chest and the pushed out. A storm of black and white, blue glows arcing through it formed full and powerful. all the while all present could still hear the somber music.

The storm proceeded for sometime and them he unleashed his words, a more complicated part of his magic, "Püramiidi surnute mälestamine!" He finished his words and brought his hands together with a powerful clap. A wave like the one used to destroy the city careened toward the storm silent and invisible.

Suddenly the Aaedanian's would feel a slight pull. Not physically but mentally. Aegon was borrowing their thoughts, their memories, the story of Aaedan. Their collective image of what Aaedan was would be used to shape the memorial.

It was taking form now, the storm of sand and magic had compressed itself into a cone pointing toward the sky. A pyramid was forming, a crypt for the many many dead. Black sand was all that was visibly left of the storm, the white stone and marble from the city creating the tomb itself, the granite of the walls started to form the outermost layer protecting the white interior, much like the city that was.

As this great monument finished building itself, white stone began to etch itself into the surface of the black pyramid. An epitaph formed. Only to words formed, right at the bottom of the pyramid and dead center of its western side, "For Aaedan." It continued however. The history of Aaedan began to appear in images of white stone etched into the granite. The history of Aaedan, starting from the the end of the word to the very tip of the pyramid. Their founding moments, the flee from the east and the discovery of their city. Their mighty defense against those that hunted them. The rise and falls of kings and queens. The civil war and removal of the their monarchy. Their restoration of the monarchy when they needed a true ruler. The glory of wars waged over the years, only defending their homes from those descendants of their original enemies. The horror that was their fall, and the triumph that was their redemption. Finally, setting upon the top of the monument a white lion, standing on its hind legs, claws out, face in a fierce roar with its teeth bared. The monument was complete.

The land was poisoned and cursed, Aegon was not done. He had pulled so magic magic forth it had begun to try and run wild. He would use that, control its raging flow, "PUHASTAGE!" Magic flowed from the pyramid's base. The land poisoned by the felmagic's rain was cleansed, a raging wave of green lush grass erupted from the monument. The trees that were tainted restored to life. Foliage seemingly popping from the limbs.

Another unforeseen problem came into play. The mighty city sat in a valley and massive spring had kept the city watered. This spring, now flowing with magic was already creating a lake to swallow the monument. Aegon used the last of his energy, the last of the raging magic that if left uncontrolled would do more harm than good, and spoke a final time, "TÕUSTA!"

The great pyramid rose, a hill beneath it. It rose above level that the lake would overtake it. Rather when the lake finished forming it would leave the pyramid on an island almost its exact center.

All the magic glow and energy left Aegon. He dropped to his knees, panting and sweating. His left arm, a fake made of clay was limp, no magic left in Aegon to move it. The shadows of dragons that were his orbs even dropped dead rolling down the hill he had made and into the rising waters of the new lake forming. The hum of their music finally dying.

With huffed breath he spoke, "Võib Aaedan tuleb meeles pidada, võib tema ajaloo tuntud, võib ta surnud rahus ja võib ta oli üles ehitatud maa olla igavesti paradiis.... May Aaedan be remembered, may her history be known, may her dead rest in peace and may the land she was built upon forever be a paradise." And with that Aegon fainted, a crumpled heap of sweat, robes and sparks of magic, a residue from his work.