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The sun burned above oceans of sand,
but in the sand was Stone, strong and true.
Fairel hewed the Stone, and built—as great as any thaig in the deep.
And with his sons' help, he ensured the thaig prospered and grew.
Fairel, Paragon, fled from the strife his brilliance created,
the strife that destroyed thaigs, sundered houses, from weapons that clan used against clan.
His own clan and his two sons followed Fairel to the pitiless surface,
the surface where they would hide from the war that took their home.
After many years Fairel, greatest of Paragons, could not bear life's burden.
And with the burden growing, he called his sons to his bedside.
He bade each son swear he would take care of his brother,
and the brothers swore, and mourned when their father returned to the Stone.
Fairel's sons built monuments to their father, locking away his great works,
and worked together, for a time, side by side. Each ruled half the thaig,
but each ruled differently. They argued, and heated words made the brothers duel,
And where one brother fell, the other raised bloodied axe in hand, alone.
This is the tale of Fairel, Paragon among Paragons, father of two sons,
who, against their father's wishes, fought from foolish words and foolish pride.
For pride these halls were made—to honor a father's deeds, and grieve his loss.
And for loss these halls were made, to honor a brother mourned.
A father taken by time, a brother dead by my own hand.
With this work behold my grief, in Stone and shifting sand.