« on: October 07, 2019, 03:59:03 PM »
Deep in Gundarak-that-was, on a gentle hilltop, amidst papavers and cornflowers and violets, a graven stone decorated with a simple wreath slowly gathers moss. An inscription, faded with wind and weather, reads:
Vicente Szekely
Historian, Chronicler, and Dreamer
Logged
Hir yw'r dydd a hir yw'r nos, a hir yw aros Arawn.
