Ladies and gentlemen, we request your attention and your happy hands. There is a lesson for us all to learn from this.
History has long thrown the challenges of time against us. They have been long, rough, and tiring. And yet, we have stood for all these years.
Perhaps it because we can readily adapt. Perhaps that is the reason.
Perhaps we gained the ability because change has shaped us beyond recognition since our beginning. The undying merge, sweeping the face of planets bare, leaving only the rock and the wind. The fear from other beings, who took us in the dead of night. But we persevered, and thrived.
But the pure age of gold did not last. Alas, it is just the nature of all intelligence. We halted change, threw it away. Cast it aside for better fantasies.
Yet even then, in a disheveled state we did not yet realize, there were those who realized our mistakes. We learned from those mistakes. We learned, and forgave, and then we touched the stars.
The tales will be told for the rest of our age. Those of the meetings and the ancient dragons.
We found ourselves a new home. A lush world where we could enjoy ourselves and preserve our heritage. And we resolved to adapt with whatever came to us.
But all of us are not like this. There are still some oblivious to our way of living, arrogant and pompous. Perhaps they do not mean this, they do not know what they are doing to themselves. When they see, they will adapt their ways.
But sometimes, they adapt too late.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you one of the name of Tirac.
In the early morning light, an Atrenid sat in his house along the Novus shoreline. He was content, and his name was Parlan.
Our story begins in the house of Parlan because at this time, he was preparing for a great event. In his task, he was taking his time, for he was fearful of making mistakes. There was a reason, of course. He was painting.
Around Viperius, painting was still held highly in spite of the prevalent digital media. There was something about fine art that still struck a chord those days.
Eventually, Parlan put down his brush and examined the finished piece. The paint was dry already---he took pride in a self-invented formula that allowed quick drying. He was satisfied with the result.
Parlan checked his timering, and then took the canvas. He covered the painting with an exquisite cloth and then stepped out the door.
- This story will be based loosely off of a Shakespeare play. Brownie points for figuring out which one :)