**a marvel to behold, an immense monument that soared 888 meters into the heavens, seemingly piercing the very clouds themselves. Its white and gold exterior radiated a soft, ethereal glow, drawing the eyes of all who gazed upon it. The entrance to the structure was situated approximately 100 meters above ground, accessible only by a grand staircase that stretched from the earth to the towering doorway. It was a test of devotion and determination for those who sought the wisdom and healing of the Eastern Flame. Flame-priests, the guardians and caretakers of the sacred site, surrounded the structure. They chanted in low, reverent tones, their voices a harmonious melody that resonated with the very stones of the monument. As they chanted, they spread incense, the fragrant smoke weaving around the staircase and entrance, a symbol of their devotion. Clad in brown robes, the flame-priests painted their faces a stark white, with black eyeshadow and black lip paint adorning their features. Their hands, too, were painted a vibrant red, the colours flaking and fading with time. The priests seemed almost otherworldly, their painted visages nearly indistinguishable from one another. The pilgrims who came to the Eastern Flame hailed from all walks of life, each carrying their own burdens and seeking solace within the sanctuary of the ancient monument. They climbed the staircase with purpose and determination, their eyes fixed on the glorious edifice that loomed above them.** - Upscaled by <@698419766280323133> (fast)
a marvel to behold, an immense monument that soared 888 meters into the heavens, seemingly piercing the very clouds themselves. Its white and gold exterior radiated a soft, ethereal glow, drawing the eyes of all who gazed upon it. The entrance to the structure was situated approximately 100 meters above ground, accessible only by a grand staircase that stretched from the earth to the towering doorway. It was a test of devotion and determination for those who sought the wisdom and healing of the Eastern Flame. Flamepriests, the guardians and caretakers of the sacred site, surrounded the structure. They chanted in low, reverent tones, their voices a harmonious melody that resonated with the very stones of the monument. As they chanted, they spread incense, the fragrant smoke weaving around the staircase and entrance, a symbol of their devotion. Clad in brown robes, the flamepriests painted their faces a stark white, with black eyeshadow and black lip paint adorning their features. Their hands, too, were painted a vibrant red, the colours flaking and fading with time. The priests seemed almost otherworldly, their painted visages nearly indistinguishable from one another. The pilgrims who came to the Eastern Flame hailed from all walks of life, each carrying their own burdens and seeking solace within the sanctuary of the ancient monument. They climbed the staircase with purpose and determination, their eyes fixed on the glorious edifice that loomed above them.