Perhaps there is a pilgrimage of few town elders that take a long ten day journey to this place built by there forebears hundreds of years earlier. Deep within the mountain labyrinths far from the coastal townships to the west. The long trek takes them through acid lake desert before arriving to the more temperate high plateau where lays the peaks of the old ones. Just at the base of the mountains, the scattered skeletal remains of grand battles long past. Now a valley of broken armor and bone. It is here they share the wisdom from the books and ways to avoid war once more as they look below at the reminder of what once was. How to avoid such calamities and bring peace to the townships. Music and warmth comes across there words. How shall we preserve such treasures they ask themselves. Here among such columns of old they continue to ponder. We will come back here and so will our children as we teach them while the books are opened where the passages tell us to seek kindness and never hate again. Let the dust and iron below remind us to avoid such a fate.
