A bit I wrote about the Creator
Let us take a look at the Creator of Zynara. We fly up off the ground, through the night sky, which only I know is just an illusion. The sky is dark and cloudless. The moon is full. The stars are bright. We soar upwards into the night. We come upon a silver palace floating in midair. It's doors are wide open, waiting for our arrival. We step through the doorway and find ourselves in a silvery dome. The walls and floor are covered in intricate designs. They tell the history of Zynara. In the center of the room is what we really came for, upon a throne made of polished ebony sits a black cloaked figure, the Creator. His hands are white as parchment, gripping the sides of his throne. If we were to lift his dark hood we would see his face, twisted and wrinkled with age. His sunken eyes are squeezed shut with concentration. He is creating. Lets leave him to it, shall we?
Let us take a look at the Creator of Zynara. We fly up off the ground, through the night sky, which only I know is just an illusion. The sky is dark and cloudless. The moon is full. The stars are bright. We soar upwards into the night. We come upon a silver palace floating in midair. It's doors are wide open, waiting for our arrival. We step through the doorway and find ourselves in a silvery dome. The walls and floor are covered in intricate designs. They tell the history of Zynara. In the center of the room is what we really came for, upon a throne made of polished ebony sits a black cloaked figure, the Creator. His hands are white as parchment, gripping the sides of his throne. If we were to lift his dark hood we would see his face, twisted and wrinkled with age. His sunken eyes are squeezed shut with concentration. He is creating. Lets leave him to it, shall we?