Since the beginning of our thoughts the Wall was without a door. All across its vast expanse, as far as we know, the mysterious creator never made one. What lies on the other side of, or within the wall, even how far or high it spans, we do not know. Since we do not fly, all of those who ventured out on foot to make measurements came back hopelessly. We know that it was created from things that do not, or no longer exist in the world, for all our efforts to tear it down have been in vein. The priests had no answers but they gave them, and for lack of answers we received them. The D'or will come, and those with righteous faith will be able to pass through the portal. We are the Ageless, unborn and undying, and now we are the faithful. Lives passed, and still we sat on the ground watching patiently. Sometimes lesser beings would come and sit with us, at our tables, in our beds, but then when some of us started to become like them we learned to like being different. Too long too long, and so a brave few began to wonder about the designs of the Wall on their own. The priests forbade it, pointed at their books, swung their sheaperd crooks, but our faithful pursuit took up a different path. Iron was weaved into our blood, vestments were thrown aside and hammers taken up as we began to build our own walls. Soon out of the soft earth a city rose into the sky that saved us from our likeness to other beings. Those who chose to stay behind would never be seen again. Yet even at such great hieghts the top of the wall was still out of sight. Ages upon ages we rose, higher to the point that we forgot what the foundations looked like, higher still that nose bleeds became common occurence. When there was nothing but clouds above and below us, still the Wall was there, just as undefeatable as it was before. Too long too long did we build in vein, it was useless to go further in search of something that could possibly not even exist. At this point, we began to decorate. No longer did we create upward foundations, but built statues depicting what we believed life would be like on the other side. Everything went into static being, our hope, our faith, our emotion, all necessary components to create true works of art. We gave to them so dearly that they were given lives in turn, and how they played their parts, dancing stoney lives which we became content to live to watch. The Ageless, the faithless and now the bloodless. Our city was one of metal and electricity that floated in the sky but never saw the sun because we weaved a thick curtain out of fog and iron to place around us. For a long time nothing moved in the city but the decorations, we just sat and watched them, looked at eachother for brief moments, and tried but failed to make new art. No one would venture out in curiosity anymore. Then, the day when all the statues stood still, the Necromancer atop his copper green horse came to us out of the black.