There is a place on the world of Porphyra called the Theater of Arrival, though no plays are found there. What is found there is a ring of twenty-seven stones, all an odd maroon color. The stones lie on a field of glass, as if some great heat, light or pressure had been brought to bear on it. Though no play is performed here, there is art, of a sort. Each of the stones bears several images, three, in fact, two of which are the same on every stone, and one different. The similar images bookend the different on each stone, and appear as the engraving of a tall, thin humanoid with pointed ears, and a muscular humanoid with tusk-like fangs and fierce demeanor.
It is said that if you look at the images long enough, in that wind-swept place, they start to look more and more like each other. The central image of each stone is unique. Sometimes they are abstract, such as the stone with swirls and swatches of random color incorporated into the stone, or more direct, such as the smooth stone with the plain image of a hammer striking an anvil, wreathed by shackles. The meadowlarks, the rooted crag, the pierced woman, the collar and sun, those with the knowledge of what they mean will wonder at what force made these images, and what connection they have to those they represent. Sometimes the wind in the stone seems almost to hold words, the words of those whose images are borne on the stones, each with its own story. This story is, in some cases, quite new; in others, it is older than time itself.