The walls of the ancient village of Alinta were toppled by a small child—from the inside.
Once, a very long time ago, there were six Córean merchants who left their homes to set up shop in a city together. One of the merchants was named Alinta, and she made pyrotechnics the likes of which none had seen; with but a small flame, they would pop and sizzle and whiz off into the sky and explode in all manner of shapes and colors.
The other merchants knew that Alinta was talented, which is why they wanted to come with her. For who would be watching Alinta's pyrotechnics but clients that would want something to eat, and perhaps a blanket against the cold of the night, and surely transportation to and from the watching grounds. So the six set off to find an ideal place for their enterprise, and they found it—not in a city—but on the side of a mountain...
Three things drew them to the spot:
