In eldest day of y're bef're gov'rning law, did dwell the youngest of hatchling upon whom the prominent zo’zyola did bless and bestow their guidance.  Yet in the folly of youth, the boy turned his tail to their consulship and cast aside their teachings. Hath moved by righteous wrath, he wast beset upon by the deepest of s'rrows f'r his disobedience, a blight of desolation to his aloof of bethinking.
Alloweth the spirits beest thy compass, guiding thy hands through life’s harshest of voyages, through the tempestuous sea our w'rship lies within.  Hon'r the eth'real planes; thy steps shall beest embrac'd with purpose and fav'r.  Alloweth love’s soothing whisp'ring cast the sweetest of melodies in thy willing ears.
On the m'rrow of thy journey, as the golden rays did cast their gentle toucheth upon thee, knoweth yond our people, gath'r in solemn remembrance f'r the sacr'd keeping of mem'ries. Embrace our kindship and alloweth our hearts beat as one, unit'd in respect to our ancestral souls yond wand'r our realm and the eth'real.  Putteth down thy tools and prepareth with the food with utmost care, ch'rish'd spirits of y're, val'rous warri'rs and wise heal'rs, guests divine.
Behold beyond thy claws! The mast'rs of Akhanzi, with their steadfast iron wills and stalwart hearts, standing as sentinels 'gainst the h'resy that dares to snuff out the light of sanctity within our spirits. Minds sharp as a blade and muscles temp'r'd with vig'rous ablaze, wielding claws of almightiest justice, smiting down any who seeketh to sow apostate talk. Thus, their noblest of duty unfolds ahead, a resolve of resolute loyalty.
Unmoving, unyielding mountain rocks maketh way, enshrin'd with the most sacr'd and pious of Th'akhists, safeguarding the profound wisdom st'r'd hence and did treasure as essence of all spirits. Within these ven'rable walls, one finds the illumination of the faithful, with their testaments to the unassailable strength that did bind their soul to the mountain pass.
Where riv'rs flow from eldest mounts, and life flows within them, cometh Kazani, sharp-claw and battle-fury! Strong of battle, but beset by dark'st zo'zyola, rage and wroth and ruin! Cruel-hand, black-heart, ruled Kazani, til great'st of sin did he wreak upon kin. In bleak'st night did broth'rs clash, and wisest zyola curseth his name. Shame and sorrow ruled wicked Kazani, as Guwandi he made his name, first of many. Long he sought death with honor, that crimes should be forgiv'n, but upon him greatest of curses was placed, to know none but victory.
Long did Kazani, Guwandi, sharp-claw and brother-killer wander, til upon barr'n plain he did meet with oldest and wisest Sinta, spirit-call'r and high mast'r of Akhanzi. Shame and sorrow rul'd his day, as he did plead to be uncursed. So staff met sword, but with hidden cunning, secret wisdom, did the wise-warrior strike! Struck dead was the first Guwandi, his crimes aton'd.
A High Elder of Akhanzi cometh to Guzari, where seven hundred cold and cruel spirits did torment the citizenry. No blade could scar, no heal'r could cure the vile magick these zo'zyola wielded. With nought but her staff and her will, did the wise-heler go out into cold and empty lands, for days numbered thirty and six. Though black'st spirits struck at her, ancient wisdom serveth her shield! Bound, thou art, cried wise shaman of Akhanzi, and trapped within her whitewood staff the seven hundred, hence that power should no longer torment this world.
In eld'st times were Moghes and realm eth'real one. Wicked spirits, cruel'st zo'zyola, reign'd free, to torment Sinta in vile manner. Then cometh Sa'par, Sovereign o'er Solstice. Four-armed, wise-soul and battle-master, he taketh in his arms th'world entire, and did push realms in twain. Thus eart'ly Moghes and eth'real plane divide, not one but two.
Beware, beware, all ye good Sinta. Beneath th'gund lieth abomination, that which is called Dalskso, rotting-earth! Once nine and ninety wicked zo'zyola, made amalgamate in evil. To its slaves, dark power is given, vilest o'witchcraft wielded by cruel'st villains. None but the vigilant and true, mast'rs of the realm eth'real may stand 'gainst such vile shadow.
Beware the gifts of Gruzz, vile trickst'r. All that they shall sow be chaos, betrayal, untruth. O'er ye honest and forthright, no power can they have.
A thousand thousand times be a soul born unto the world. All Sinta wicked or righteous, in each be the cycle of seed and of sickle, of siro aflight and fishes in life's sweet waters, of life and death in equal measure.
Unto those who should burn for'st or poison sea, cometh wrath of Aosr. Though merrisome and kind a zyola is he, quick is his rage 'gainst defil'rs, despoil'rs of his realm wherein green things groweth.
Beware the veiled widow, who wanders upon moonless nights. Betrayed most cruelly she was, and vengeance upon the living she shall seek. Ask not to look upon her face or why tail she lacks - lest she take offense, and tear thine own tail from thy flesh.
Once was Azkharak, war-king of Vharzk. Bloody red his scales, bloody red his claws. In vicious slaught'r did he lead his host, sacking Thos'karum to Darakath. No warri'r, however great, could stand 'gainst him. But for his dishonor grave did veng'ful dead arise, and hunt him like eszkazal on op'n field. No blade can cut the wrothful dead, no armor shield 'gainst their claws, and thus bloody war-king was struck dead, his host broken.
Bone and blood of thine ancest'rs - in this lies power. Let their spirits walk beside thee, act as guides and companions between eart'ly and eth'real lands.
Life is ephermeral, wanting, waning. To thine clan, thine ancestors and thy legacy be true, that thou shall not die but live on, in world and time beyond our own.
Take to heart this warning, ye steadfast Sinta - beware the white-scaled man, face hidd'n behind mask. A traitor thrice-damned is he, curs'd by spirits to know no peace. He shall offer treasures and wealth, at the cost of thy very soul. Many have fallen to his lies and trick'ry, but remember this, that pure water shall burn him most terribly, as though it is flame.
In eldest day was a wise-fisher, elder of Akhanzi and learn'd in secret ways, gaoled by warriors of ill intent, false-tongued and iron-faced. Cruel mockery did they lay upon the wise, for powerless and old they seemed before the flame and the steel. In a high tower of stone they were locked, escape far from the eye. But the wise one knew the secret names of the spirits in stone, and called upon these steadfast things. "Break," they ask'd of the stone, and it did. Cruel-clawed captors sought their end, but they called again, "Aid me", to the capricious and whimsic'l zo'zyola of wind, and a great breeze did carry them as a siro to freedom.