The City of Cutre’ton was in a curious state this night. Every night, the streets would crowd with nobility, for every night entitled some reason to revel. Music and revelry would be so in use that one would forget to sleep, night after night. The roads would most likely be paved with yesterday’s revelry, streamers and confetti floating like the clouds of sand blowing outside the walls. The high palace of Cutre’ton, gilded with precious minerals and mirrors shined to a polish, was the central hub of the night’s revelries. Nobilities would mimic those closest to the palace in their different revelries of court. From the heights of the Spire tops, slaves would throw the streamers and confetti over, increasing the revelry of the crowd below. The revelries would continue, ebbing and flowing with the crowd’s general degree of lethargy. The central courtyard, however, was always reveling the most actively, and the revelries declined the further you walked from it. The outskirts were usually filled with people of all social classes, dozing off the night’s revelries.

It is said that the Lord of Cutre’ton was blessed by the gods, to have every night be filled with revelry, since he so adored the night life. He has been leading the festivities every night, never wavering, never sleeping. Those who try to mimic the Lord would usually collapse within one night, being pushed to the outskirts to sleep and rejuvenate. But the Lord would continue the revelries, for this was his blessing. He would keep dancing and reveling, all the while weeping for a completely destroyed past. A past of freedom, rent asunder by his own heresy.

But this is not a tale to lament the Lord’s blessing. Nor are the revelries of any major concern to this tale. The stars of the night, who see all, who miss nothing in their gaze, are rather the subject of the beginning of this tale.

The eight Day-Stars, arranged to mimic a compass’ cardinal and ordinal points, were talking again, conversing about their own realms as if the others cared. They also conversed with the more minor stars; it was a great symphony in the sky at times, much like the one below. This symphony, though, lasted through the day, and stars never get tired of talking.

Tonight, though, both sky and city are in a much different state. As eluded before, Cutre’ton, the city between all the stars was estranged today. Cutre’ton ceased its revelry. The people in the streets did not dance; they only stood staring at the front steps of the high palace, expecting the Lord to emerge. But naught emerged, save for an empty air breezing through the halls.

The Day-Stars, in their bright vigilance, were the only ones to glimpse the Lord running away from Cutre’ton, dancing, tears running down his cheeks. He was the Lost Lord of Cutre’ton. Not one person saw him leave. Not one human saw him run South, to the Badlands.

The West-star, Chelan, watched the spectacle with interest. “Why, oh North-star Cradle, do you suppose he makes this decision? He wished to revel every day, and we have bestowed upon him the gifts that make Cutre’ton the city of revelry! He has no reason to despise us!”

Cradle, in his infinite wisdom and patience, was well accustomed to answering Chelan’s simply idiotic questioning. “He runs, oh insolent West-star, because he tires of this nightly revelry. He has led this repetitive reveling for exactly twenty years, today. He tires of our blessing.”

The star of the South spoke up to the North, “I see him running into my domain; I will follow his journeys, and relate to you his adventures,” the excitable South-star said, “Oh, what will he find on his journeys South!”