[DirectorBright]

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I had warned them. "Sharpen your swords," I said. I wonder if they listened.

When the Vigil was under my supervision, I had worked. I had begun to build a city that would weather any storm. It must survive, that is what we were told. Yet now the lands of Meranthe stand in the aftermath of genocide and desolation, and while embers swirl and spark in time since, it is not the same. My work was set back by ages. Or perhaps- perhaps some of it was just... my own slowed pace, the weight of all my years. The weight of what I cannot face. Not yet.

Now, the nights grow longer. The days, shorter. Not my doing, not this time. With it, the world will grow cold. In a sense, it does. Magic grows... thin. The lifestream that I once defied and now align with strains under... something. The world is in upset. Some cosmological shift... and nothing of it says anything good is coming.

Yet The Work never ends because of it. As I said then, so I say now, even if the sun itself sputtered out- we would live in the shade. Steel and flesh pave our future, synthesis in the making. Not to combat nature-

To supersede it.

Others will be healed. My work becomes more clear, laying foundations, establishing the art further and further. I do not know what lay ahead, but... it remains the future. I just have to live long enough to see it... whatever it is...

The Work never ends.

Construction efforts in Kindlehelm begin to wrap past the planning phase. Though silent, the construction site had seen an increase in golems- odd things, clad in exoskeletal steel that still bore the markings of the Goldlight Order... mostly. Yet their steel plating seemed tarnished and worn, and the gilded patterns were absent on some of the 'newer' ones. The ravages of time, without that place to support them.

The flooding waterfall doesn't seem to overbother them, though some get stuck in the marshy terrain. It isn't long before duckboards are swiftly put into place to prevent the heavy creatures from sinking. A message goes out, an open invitation and request.

As the heavens turn, the work continues.
As the sun fades, the work continues.
As the seas boil, the work continues.

This city will be the first. The pillar must be built. The city must survive.
Power in your homes. Gather the scraps, what mana remains. Generate what cannot be accommodated otherwise. If the mana draws thin, we'll create our own. If the sun burns out, we'll light up our own streets. If the weather grows cold, the warmth of that beating heart will sustain us all.
Raise your picks, raise your shovels. Lace your boots and turn your collars to the winds of change.

We must survive.
Something must survive.

All who wish to participate are invited to join the construction efforts on the pillar. A great deal of digging must be made to excavate channels for mana to flow across the city into homes and businesses. A massive amount of alchemical compounds must be made to create those conduits. A great wealth of shadows must be gathered to empower the construct.

Alchemist, artificer, or simply one with hands to work, all are beckoned to join.
A festival of the Gloamwrights, and a work for the common man lead by their patron.
And an announcement of his plans for the future, for nations across Meranthe.

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Location: Kindlehelm
Date/Time: Sunday, November 16, 4pm EST