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"The Carver" is a poem from the Menetyre set of Lorestones

The Carver[]

The Lord of the Desert:

He only needed one name, the Carver,
like the Wind or the Lightning or the Dawn.
With his presence, a new age began.
The Kings of the South stood.
They were the Lords of the Desert Sea.

The Labors Begin:

First, he made the river in the arc of the great Snaketail.
When that grew tedious, he turned his attention to the cliffs, the dunes, the depths.

A Careful Hand:

The Carver made by the morning what takes the Cycle centuries to shape.
He bored holes in the Red Marches and chiseled the spine in the Alserund.
Echoes rang through the canyons of Menetyre.
He gouged the Hollowlands and then left it barren.

A Rest:

Finally, the Carver rested.
He grew a mountain crowned with clouds by the river,
and leaned against its side to sleep.
Ages passed and the sand settled into his work, and all the land was still.

The Whispers of Dust:

That day, the Carver woke to find his touch run dry,
the wellspring of his power dead as dust at the source.
He heard then the first whisper, the first mention, "Mortals."

See Also[]