The Loreldians (lore-ELLE-dee-ans)
The most ancient of texts discovered in Daragoth are written by
the Loreldians.
Who they are is not entirely clear, but it is rumored that they are
the eldest descendants of
the Elves. A tall, slender people (by their own account), their
hair was silver and gold, the
colors of jewels, and their first stories describe the creation of
the world.
Of Thoranduril (thor-AN-doo-ril)
This is a poem about a Loreldian named Thoranduril, recovered
off a carved
gemstone buried in the middle of the world.
Thoranduril felt a power,
growing inside his land,
in his hand he held a flower,
and the flower burned his hand.
Then he knew as we know now,
that power lies in the world,
a heartbeat of souls, a secret vow,
the power of magic unfurreled.
A history of the discovery of magic, perhaps?
Of Melanduadane and the Raven (mell-an-DOO-ah-dane)
This story is a summary of a Loreldian named Melanduadane.
Melanduadane, a wayward child. Restless, his folly will
forever be remembered.
“Hark!” crowed the raven on the tree.
“Foolish raven,” said he, “I do not hark to the dark. I
tire of the stars, I wish
for something brighter.”
“Hark! Your desire will be your fall!” And with that
the raven flew off into the
night. The Stars above shone, but Melanduadane was uncontent.
“These stars are boring, in their pin points! Their small
lights.. I want
more light, so that I may see my love Anboeal (anne-BOW-ee-al)
in all of her glory.” Love was his motive. So he
climbed to the top of the
highest mountain, and lit a torch. His desire for light
grew and grew, until
he realized that the light would be better if something that
flew could hold it.
“Raven!” He cried, and the raven came.
“Yes? What do you want, boy?” The raven crowed.
“Carry this torch for me, oh bird of blackness, that light may
fall on the
world.” And Melanduadane held the torch to the raven.
In his clumsiness,
his grip faltered, and the raven was set ablaze. Crowing
madly, the raven
began to peck at him, and grabbed him in his talons and lifted
him and began
to fly over the lands.
Now the raven can be seen in the skies only part of the day, as
he flies by,
burning, carrying Melanduadane. The raven comes and takes
away the
night, lighting the world. Melanduadane’s desire was his
ascension and
downfall.
Of Serrelain (sair-AH-lane) and Moltiare (mole-TEE-yair)
Moltiare, brother to the bears, the man of no name.
Basking in the bright light of Melanduadane.
He heard a voice enter unto his domain.
A voice of a girl, fairest beyond constrain.
Her name, upon being questioned, was Serralain.
They fell in love, but were torn apart by pain.
A darker shadow now dwells in that forest lane.
An evil proud, and shrewd, and horribly vain.
Forever desiring his love again, no longer sane.
This was a typical Loreldian poem, for the time. It is written
with nine lines,
and is typically called a Fylen (fee-LENN). Is it merely a myth,
or did it describe a truthful
event?
Of the Second Age
The second age can be described as the Age of Forging. The
world that we know
today, including the peoples in it, is mostly created during this age
in some form or
another. The Loreldians disappear, suddenly and without explanation,
marking of the
beginning of the second age. From their wake, we see that the
Elves, Men, and Dwarves
appear.
The Apostles
Emissaries sent by the ‘Enlightened’, super beings sometimes worshipped
as gods.
Pathos (Dualism) (PATH-ohs)
Apostles:
Lanethan (LON-eh-thon). The light side of the dualism. Other
names include
Dragonbane, Soothsayer, Lightbearer, Aginor of Many Names.
Urdual (Balance) (YUR-doo-all)
Apostles:
Myrlance (MEER-lonce). The balancer of war, he seeks unnatural
gaps that may appear in the souls of warriors.
Torkalath (Chaos) (tor-KAY-lath)
Apostles:
Kurgoth (KIR-gawth). Lord of the dead.
Felewyn (Order) (FEL-ah-win)
Apostles:
Heath (HEE-th). A being of light, he enforces the
will of Felewyn.
Elderath (ELL-dir-ath)
An elf king, he founded the city of Kray-Edoralad near where Melanion
is now. He was
the first of mortal race to slay a dragon, and the first of mortal
race to behold one of the
Apostles, an apostle of Felewyn, who reffered to him as one of her
children. He forged
the blade known as ‘Fyrlance’, and it is said that as long as the elven
race exists, this blade
shall not break, nor show sign of wear.
Norim (NOR-imm)
A dwarvish warrior, employed by the king to find the path of fire,
deep in the heart of the
mountains of Utraakkrh (oo-TRAY-kah-rah). He journeyed underground
for nearly seven
months before stumbling across the Palace of Urdual. This portion
of his journey is
related in this diary entry:
“...As I made my way down the dusty path beyond the ring of
chasms, my eyes were suddenly blinded by an intense light.
I shielded
them with my hand, and after a few minutes adjusted. Ahead
of
me stood a great palace, stone towers rising so high in this
great
cavern that they were lost in the slight haze. A monolith
of beauty,
an immeasurable bridge spanned a ravine. At the center
of this
bridge, surrounded by stone walls at least 50 meters high,
I could see a stone pedastal, on which a very simple house
stood, bare, alone. Next to this house were two statues,
at least twice as tall as this dwelling, one of a large man
sitting cross legged, holding a jewel in outstretched hands,
and the other a curious design of two crescent shapes that
intersected near the bottom, between them floats a jade
crystal, as if by magic...I’ll draw a hasty sketch...
I will now make my way to the building..what sort of
beings could build such a wondrous palace?”
Norim never returned to the king, but his journal was found, left
purposefully it
seems, on top of a small rock structure that was found just inside
a small cave, almost one
hundred years later.
Tumbold (TUM-bold)
Tumbold was a wise human who travelled the lands seeking for his
brother Jiro
(JEER-oh), seperated at birth. He was the first man to make contact
with the elves, and
they recieved him well, for they had been watching Humans from afar
for a couple of
years previous, and had decided them to be ‘Tolerable.’ He met
with the king Peldamyr
III (PEL-dah-meer) a very noble king who later constructed the road
between Adel (the
human capital, at the time, which was later destroyed by orcs) and
Kray-Edoralad.
Tumbold decided to stay in Kray-Edoralad, for he adored the elves and
their customs, and
knew that if his brother Jiro was still alive, anywhere, he also would
seek the Elves. He
was sadly correct.
Jiro
Jiro, brother to Tumbold the Wise, Elfenmet, was nearly the opposite
of his
brother. A wicked and evil man who dabbled in the ways of the
Bafflement, a form of
mind control, he had formed a small army and made a castle, today known
as Veldamyr
(Wicked Stone). Jiro was not weak by any means, able to harness
the powers of any
mortal creature. His first attack was centered on Winanadoa (wuh-NAH-nah-doh-ah),
a
fair sized human city built north of Kray forest. His army of
evil men slaughtered the poor
misguided townspeople, their own city forces failing to an unknown
knight, the captain of
his legions, Beldagar (BELL-dah-gar), whom the elves named Guldacor
(gool-dah-CORE), meaning ‘Green Knight’, for he wore a suit of mail
which shone a
brilliant green. Somehow he was able to strike an uncombatable
fear into those who stood
in his way. The elves immediately recognized him as a force to
be reckoned with, so they
mustered their forces into an army known as ‘Ne Cledsar’ (NAY CLED-sarr),
meaning
The Watch in their tongue. When Jiro attacked again, his forces
struck Weldar, a small
portside town on the northern tip of the continent, which housed The
Great Library, a
collection of ancient works and tablets which the elves frequently
visited to gain insight
into the Loreldians, their myterious (supposed) ancestors. The
elves, having known this
would be his next point of attack, had already prepared a defense.
This defense proved useless, however, for although the elves
were able to
withstand the maddening fear that Guldacor radiated, they had not counted
on Jiro coming
himself. With one mighty spell, standing on a hilltop overlooking
the town, the Green
Knight standing beside him, the sea fled, leaving a bare ocean with
fish flopping for miles
to see. Suddenly and with a clash the sea returned, as recounted
by this eyewitness:
“The sea had retreated even from his might, but not in fear-no,
in
preperation for an attack. Without warning the sea rushed
to return, and it flooded its way over our town, washing people
many
miles inland or out to sea, the cries of the elves ringing in
our ears.
That portion of beautiful land I used to call
home is now deep underwater, O nothing but woe do I feel for
that.”
As the sea flooded the land, an elf cried,
“Medefalon fe, Lor Malgoriand rek aleo!”
(mah-DEF-ah-lon FAY, LORE mal-GORE-ee-and RECK ah-LAY-oh)
which is roughly translated, Avenge me, The Shadow Bringer must
fall!
And so Jiro was named Lor Malgoriand, ‘Bringer of Shadows.’
Lor Malgoriand’s army was also drowned during this attack, however,
which left
him powerless for a time. It was then that Torkalath of Chaos
bestowed upon Lor
Malgoriand a gift, The Orc. Orc, an elvish word, means ‘Scar’,
and sometimes they are
referred to as Kayre (KAY-ree) Orc, meaning ‘The Scar upon the World.’
A hideous
creature, standing nearly man height, with rough green skin, it is
born into a consciousness
of hatred and detest of all creatures, especially the elves.
Lor Malgoriand went on to
destroy Adel in a fierce battle, eventually burning the city into the
ground, at the cost of
Beldagar (Guldacor), who was stabbed by a child of no more than seven
years named
Dhero, after his parents were brutally slaughtered in front of him.
The elves’ capital was
also attacked, but before it could be destroyed, a miraculous event
occured, as is
recounted in the reference The History of The Elves compiled by many
scholars of later
times.
“The orcs were piling into the city gates, elves crying in the
distance as a black
smoke issued forth from the once great, shining walls. Outside
the gate, two of the largest
trees in the forest were laid waste, and upon falling on the fortifications,
ripped through
them. Then, suddenly, a light, not coming from any one source
as it seemed that merely
all things began to glow, a light of fearce white halted the actions
of all creatures,
including the hideous Orcs. A woman’s voice, proud and noble,
rang through the ears of
all:
Torkalath has gone too far, the balance cannot be preserved.
These..these Orcs, ripping through the trees..
And here the voice faltered a bit, as if on the edge of tears,
..and slaughtering my children! This can not occur.
The light died down, and there, floating above the city, was a woman
with long green hair,
around 7 meters tall, wearing entirely gold armor which reflected the
suns rays in rainbow
hues. She held aloft something that was nearly blinding to look
at, a sword made of light,
and swiftly brought it down to point towards the city. The orcs
bodies were torn apart by
an unseen force, and Lor Malgoriand was lifted above the city and his
body was cloven in
two by the sword of light.
Felewyn had saved her children.
Syrrus (SEER-us) and the Dragon Krathor (KRAY-thor)
An elf who was born a poor peasant, his schoolings in life were
focused around
becoming a warrior. He left his family in Melanion, a city built
south of the ruins of
Kray-Edoralad, when his training was complete, and he wished to wander
the world in
search of fame and fortune.
From his journals, it can be learned that he stumbled upon something
vastly
important, which even he refrains to name, hidden in some secret place.
He returns home
to announce his triumph to his parents only to find that a Dragon named
Krathor had been
terrorizing the city, killing many (his parents included). Stricken
with grief, he returns to
his treasure and removes it, taking it with him to Deralia, in the
hopes of finding out
exactly what it is. He sketched it in his journal:
A rock with golden spots, and a light source shining golden light from
within. He took it
first to a smith, who said the gold was worthless. Determined
to find the answer, he took
it to a Wiseman, who is not named. This wiseman immediately recognized
the light of
gold coming from within of the rock, and recited this poem:
Hidden in the grasses and waters of Daragoth,
lost in the sands of time’s immortal dance,
a hero will be born at the discovery of the light of gold,
a hero will find the blade of the Fyrlance.
Syrrus noted that he had been unable to break the rock open, proving
that he must
not be the hero. The wiseman saw it was more a fear what the
prophecy might entail than
a truthful observation, so the wiseman chanted the words of opening,
and behold the
Fyrlance was revealed. Insisting that Syrrus must know of some
great deed that needs to
be performed, Syrrus’ mind recalled that the Dragon was still probably
around Melanion.
Bidding farewell to the Wiseman, Syrrus returned to do battle with
the Dragon, wielding
the Fyrlance, which still shone with a fierce golden light.
The Dragon Krathor was a Green Dragon, of Fire Breath, and his
perch was atop a
mountain a couple dozen miles outside of Melanion. Scaling the
mountain, Syrrus was
badly injured in a fight with a Cave Troll, bursting out of its lair
and grabbing him from
behind. Coughing blood up, his left leg nearly useless and gangrenous,
he reached the
summit. His battle with the Dragon was obviously fierce, as an
onlooker from below
notes:
“And I saw the moutaintop blaze, and a hideous dragon scream,
the likes
of which I had never heard before. Lights and flashing,
the fierce screams
of a young man echoed into the forest below. And suddenly,
in a blinding
flash, I saw the Dragon rear back, a gold light shining from
a point emblazed
in its chest, and it flew off towards the sea. I heard
no more of the man.”
South, about 50 miles, the people of Seaside recalled this:
“A green streak across the sky, tinted with flashes of gold, and
the thing
hit the water with such force that many of our boats were torn
apart
by the force of the waves. The splash reached a hundred
feet into the
sky!”
Syrrus was found a couple of days later, when a brave group of
explorers,
including the one who had seen the effects of the mountaintop fight,
scaled the mountain
themselves, knowing the dragon to be gone. His body was torn
to pieces, but on his face
a smile was worn. He will forever be remembered as a hero in
his age.
Ghale (GALE), last of the line of Raelandor (ray-LON-door)
Ghale was an Elfman, a half-elf and half-human, born to a human
father named
Durnbold (DIRN-bold) and an elf woman named Lysa (LIE-za). He
grew up a noble in
Melanion, with Silver hair from birth and eyes of gold.
A portrait of him, painted by a famous local painter:
Ghale inherrited a silver medallion from his parents, a ‘family
heirloom’ that had
been passed down to the first born son of each generation, on his mother’s
side. His
mother had no brothers, so she inherited it instead, and then gave
it to Ghale when he was
born. She called it Mondalpaece (mon-doll-PAY-see), meaning ‘Spirit
of the Dragon.’
At his 17th birthday (just after the above painting was made), his
parents were slain by a
band of maurauding Orcs, he was hidden in the castle cellar.
After emerging onto the
world, his medallion began to shine a faint radiance of gray.
Seeking where his heart led
him, he wandered through the Kray forest, aimless.
He was attacked in the woods by a dwarf rogue, whom Ghale might
have killed
had his medallion not shone brightly before his hand fell. Instead,
he befriended this
dwarf, named Kirmo, and they decided that it might be of great importance
to find out
what this medallion was, and how it glowed. They trekked deep
into the Kray, Ghale had
a vision that commanded him further into this forest, and eventually
they stumbled upon
the ruins of an ancient temple, so overgrown with moss and vines that
it was impossible to
see that it was a temple at all, and not just a growth in the forest.
They entered.
Upon entering the first room, the door shut loudly behind the
two (luckily Kirmo
had brought a torch), and they were trapped inside. When walking
across the floor of the
second room, the medallion suddenly shown with a great brilliance,
and the two
adventurers froze. Bending down, Kirmo lightly tapped the stone
step in front of him: A
large spike stabbed from within a hidden panel: It would have
skewered Kirmo had he not
jumped back. Using the medallion as a guide, they slowly made
their way through the
temple, and eventually reached an altar which glowed a deep blue in
the room. A gentle
man’s voice flooded the room:
“So, you have come at last. We have waited long for the
descendant
of Elderath to arrive. Your blood line was meant to have
died out
with the death of Elderath, but by some fickle chance of fate
that
man had a son, and he had a son, and so forth. Come, now,
Ghale, it is time for you to leave Daragoth: Your time
has ended.”
Kirmo began to speak, but he was cut off by a harsh, booming voice
of deep
apathy and loathing,
“You may not come! You are not of the line of Elderath,
and
if you ask again, I shall wither your brain like a prune!”
Ghale said that he would not go unless Kirmo went as well, and
again the voice of
hatred sounded,
“We have not waited for that...we do not tolerate
disobedience, and for that...”
A harsh pain ran up Ghale’s spine, but was quickly cut off,
“No, no, we don’t want to hurt him...” Chimed the sweet
voice.
“Let the Dwarf see where he wishes to go. I’m sorry, Kirmo,
but you cannot come, you can only see.”
The temple walls vanished, and they were standing in a field just
off a beach
looking into an ocean of brilliant blue hues.
“Ghale, your sword: You are the key.”
Kirmo recounts this later in a biography that is now regarded
as one of the greatest
events in our time:
"...And lo it appeared to them, as Ghale
held aloft his blade,
a light shone forth - It was revealed
to them. The sky
split asunder, the clouds retreated,
and a golden glow issued
forth. There in the sky, it was, an
island as if uprooted from
the ocean, and rivers flowed into immeasurable
waterfalls
down to the sea below. And a golden
bridge of light grew,
spanning miles into the sky, upwards
towards the island.
Ghale stepped lightly onto it, as one
would on a bridge of
light, and began to cross. They called
the island,
Eldamare, (ed. note - ancient elven
tongue for 'Sky Bridge')
and when two days time had passed they
reached it.
Looking ahead, Ghale's eyes beheld a
wonder which had
never before been seen by a mortal -
A Crystalline
Palace - The walls made entirely of
a nearly completely
transparent material that seemed to
be of diamond-like
origin. It was in the shape of a face,
except the face
was distorted - the left half smiling
sweetly, benevolent,
the other half the face of demonic hatred
and loathing.
It was the castle of Pathos, Dualistic
overseer being."
Ghale turned to Kirmo, and said,
“I go alone from here.”
Kirmo found himself alone, on a beach. It took him nearly
two months to find a
way back to his home city, where he sat and wrote his biography that
this story is taken
from.
Wuldegren (VULL-dah-green) and Leida (LIE-dah)
Wuldegren, an Elf from Melanion, was born to parents Faelon (FAY-lon)
and
Pylean (PIE-lee-ann). On Wuldegren’s 16th birthday he was given
a sword by his father
Faelon and instructed to keep it safe from all others, and to never
sell it or even tell people
that he possessed it. Wuldegren, being an honest son, did as
his father asked, and lived a
peaceful life as a fletcher near Melanion, for over 30 years.
His journal reflects the night on which his fate changed:
“And as I was reading from the latest Uldagrand, I heard
a terrible rapping against my door. Springing from my
seat,
I hurled the door open: A human woman fell to the floor
in my entryway. I reached down to pick her up, but when
I turned her over I saw that her robe was drenched in blood,
so I carefully brought a blanket and carried her in that to
my guest bed. She couldn’t speak elvish, and I couldn’t
speak human, so communication was difficult. I insisted
upon seeing her wound, but she was hesitant. I tried
to show her my good intention by displaying a bandage
I had recently made upon my left arm: the hunting accident.
She agreed, finally.
The wound was horrible, but did not look life threatening.
I soaked it and cleaned it, then I applied some of my
natural healing potion. I tried to inquire of her name,
and after some time I got it: Leida. I introduced
myself,
and I know now that she thanked me for my help.
Leida was fleeing a band of ragged Orcs, as I learned when
my front door was forcefully ripped from its hinges and
my entryway nearly chopped to pieces by a ravaging axe.
I hurried to my room, just down the hall, and removed
the sword from my strongbox. Suddenly, a scream from
the guest room, a woman, and I rushed back. The thing
had her by the collar of the overcoat I had lent her.
As quick as I could, I rushed the Orc. The sword in my
hands flared, I felt a hot energy ripple from it as I rose
it
for the strike. I cried, “Loran Adelefan!” (unhand
the woman)
and stabbed with all my force into the back of the Orc.
My blade should have bounced back forcefully, as he was
wearing a heavy iron breastplate and this sword obviously
had never been sharpened by me in its use, but instead it
passed through, I felt no impact and no resistance.
A
horrible gurgling sound issued from its throat, and it fell
to the floor, falling as easily off my blade as I had entered
it.
Leida was not afraid, I saw immediately. She was furiously
ready for battle, and I looked at her hands: A blue
glow,
crackling with the force of lightning.
A wizard.”
They had to flee the house, as it was lit ablaze by flaming arrows
from Orc
Archers, and they ran out of the woods and into the Kray plains.
Feeling they had escaped
for the time being, they slowed their run and began merely to make
their way to Deralia,
which Leida insisted was an extremely important destination.
Leida and Wuldagren
eventually learned eachother’s language in the wild, by talking with
eachother. Leida
explained that there was something magical about his blade, but she
could not place what
it could be. At Deralia there was a lore-master who knew many
things about magical
swords, and it may be important to her to have him as a partner:
She had learned that one
does not easily infiltrate the Black Palace and escape without making
enemies all over the
world. She had found a secret plan in the Black Palace, something
to do with Torkalath
scheming another imbalancing act, and they must make their way to the
long forgotten
temple of Felewyn, and warn her if possible. Unfortunately, the
way to Felewyn’s
threshhold (which she explained as: Another plane of existence)
involved breaching The
Pillars of the Moon, a series of towers now controled by beings of
hatred and malice.
Wuldegren would have refused (he was not exactly the pinnacle of youth)
had he not have
fallen for Leida, although he kept this matter a secret.
In Deralia, the lore-master pondered long over the meaning of
the symbol on the
sword:
He was completely puzzled until he looked through his old collection
of tablets,
and found one with exactly the same symbol on it, it was engraved on
a stone of Loreldian
times, and had a Fylen poem:
O bane of dragons and of evil, a blade for all to hear,
Shines with power and with hope when all around is fear,
Let it shine forever more O bane of woe and tear,
A blade of joy, a ray of light, a sword come from Wyr,
And in those darkest hours let it bring you cheer,
For all the leaves will live through the waning of the year,
As a blade for warriors to fight through times unending gear,
For remember you the words of the blind and gallant seer:
In this world, never again, shall be made its peer.
And below that the sword was named:
Atlas (OHT-las)
Knowing now that he possessed a blade of unequaled power, Wuldegren
announced that they would be leaving for The Pillars of the Moon the
following morning...
Through many adventures they fought, and never once were the
two without hope,
for the blade had made it so.
And so they came to the pillars of the moon, unspeakable horrors
crossed their
paths and many a harsh battle was fought between the two adventurers
and the Agents of
the Dark, Torkalath’s minions sent there to block the paths of any
seeking to warn
Felewyn of his plan: But Torkalath had not counted on Atlas being
wielded, for if he
knew that Atlas had been rediscovered, he would have retreated his
forces, for he knew
the blade well.
Wuldegren and Leida reached the gateway to the Threshhold of
Felewyn, a
gateway of uncomparable magic forces on top of the tallest, the tower
of Cordalae
(core-dah-LAY), which in elvish means ‘The Tower of Fate.’ Crossing
through the portal
was easy for Wuldegren, but Leida’s body was badly burnt and when he
reached the other
side, carrying her, she was dead. He wanted to weep, but the
blade would not let him. He
felt nothing but anger, anger that Torkalath had set such a horrible
trap, to end the life of
his secret love!
Felewyn’s palace was in the shape of a giant woman, made entirely
of gold,
wearing a suit of armor unlike any Wuldegren had seen the likes of
before. Towers were
raised around the statue, and the sword which she held thrust into
the ground was a tower
in itself; he made his way to it, still carrying the body of Leida.
The grand hall was immeasurable in distance, for as he tried to
walk across its
length, he never got any closer to the opposite end. Puzzled,
he lay the body of Leida at
his feet, and kneeled. A woman’s voice, calm and soothing, issued
forth suddenly,
“Who are you, and how is it you were able to withstand Torkalath’s
power at the
gate?”
He answered,
“I am a humble elf who seeks your counsel, O wise and honorable
Felewyn.” Then
a thought struck him:
“You knew about Torkalath’s trap?”
“Yes, I know everything he knows, and he knows everything I know.”
Dumbfounded, Wuldegren asked, “So, you knew of his secret plan
of
destruction?”
“Yes. We serve the same power, you understand, don’t you?
Pathos, Dualistic
maintainer, the dark and the light are as one. We strive to create
equality. Urdual is the
produce of that continous balance. I am the light, I create light
where there is too much
dark. Torkalath is the dark, he creates darkness where there
is too much light. The world
of Daragoth is at the moment peaceful, in fact, too peaceful:
The inhabitants will grow
weak, and forget the old ways, they will unbalance the force of duality.
Torkalath and I
have agreed on this matter, and he is now creating a balancing force.”
Enraged, Wuldegren cried, “So I’ve come all this way in vain?!!
My love’s life is
forfeit for nothing?!”
“I am sorry. I had forgotten. It was necessary that
you come here, as it was
possible that you might have found the Atlas blade, the blade that
was forged by Edarial
(ay-DAR-ee-al) in her folly, the blade of unbalance. Whomever
wields it becomes a
serious disruption of the balance of duality, for his will is enforced
regardless of
opposition. It is important that we remove that blade from the
world, and so your fate has
brought you here. You must come with me, and cast the blade into
the depths of the sea
of Proral (PRO-rale), the sea of duality that exists in Urdual’s threshhold.”
A sudden blur, and he found himself standing alone, on a rock
structure sticking a
couple meters straight out of a turmultous sea, no other land in sight.
He unsheathed the
Atlas, held it in its hands, shining with joy and happiness.
Then with a sudden resolve he
hurled the thing, spinning as it shone with a blue flare, into the
sea below. Watching it
even after it hit the water, he saw the light from it slowly die out.
Another blur, as if one
simply refocuses his eyes upon something closer to him, and he was
again standing in the
hall, above his dead love. He broke down on the floor in tears.
“Do not cry, Wuldegren. It is done, and all the unbalance
that the sword has
caused will now be lifted.”
Cradling her in his arms, her eyes slowly lifted open.
“W-wuldegren? Where...am I?” His heart choked, and
he wept with a new
strength, and embraced her tightly. The world around him was
peeled away, and he found
himself cradling her in a forest thicket, a small house - his house,
no longer ashen.
“Home.” He said.
The Age of Rebuilding
Humans, Elves and Dwarves live in a world of monsters and greed,
their once
great cities now dust in the ground, struggling to rebuild while the
Orcs that survived
Felewyn’s wrath plague the lands.
These are the times you live in.
Perhaps you can make history, yourself.