Junneryll Thatch
Seyugi Dervish

Sarapin
The ground heaved once again, straining as if trying to launch itself into the blackness of space, to escape the world entirely. The quake had been a strong one, lasting nearly three minutes. In that time four islands were lost and a new mountain range was born, for Sarapin was a world of violence and upheaval, and little that settled there found roots to grow.
But here, near enough to the red lava flow to be lit by it, but still far enough away to not be under immediate threat, a plinth rose. No, not a plinth. A statue. Or not even that. It was dark gray, and set in bas relief was a faceless form, Human-sized, Human shaped. How it got there was unclear; nothing nearby seemed to indicate it belonged, yet there it was.
Stepping closer, were someone aware of the process, they would realize that it was a figure frozen in carbonite, here, in the middle of hell.
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