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Prologue: An Alternate Origin


… And from the ashes, life.

In this time there was chaos and tumult all around. The Ancient Sages, those with true sight had agreed and prophesied since time untold that the land would come to bear fruit again, and that life would return to the land like the rushing tide.

The Eternal Flame came to them one day, and from them came the first soil. The dirt was moved and pulled, stretched thin over as much land as would cover, because the people knew it was good and would bring many rich crops, but it did not run out. The entire world was coated in this soil, which came from a small ball, and yet there was enough to grow on. All around there were farms springing up, and the land that had been a fiery ball spinning was now beginning to calm itself. The seasons passed in this way equal to seven generations, all creatures of the land growing and loving as equals, children of the land.

The decision had been made, some time ago, that, seeing how well the Sages could see and discern the soul of the land, to have each generation carry its own series of Sages. The Sages were long-lived, and survived through two normal generations, but still they carried on. When the land had grown cold the people, all races of the land, came together and summoned the most talented among them to represent the seven continents. In honor of the first day, they held a competition of clay; that the one who could make the most beautiful and true form from the mud would be a new Sage. At the end of the day each continent had decided on a winner for themselves, one who was undeniably attuned with the Eternal Flame that brought their world new life.

By the end of this first competition there were fourteen Sages, each meditating together and shaving bowls of Chakmun (a sacred drink used to sharpen the spirit). By sundown the people were mingling and dancing, knowing the great spirit which governed them all was pleased. One of the chiefs went to admire his champion’s work, and, surprised by what he saw, cried out for others to come. When they arrived, they saw and were astonished; some fell to the ground, prostrating themselves before a being much greater and more perfect than they. The being spoke to them and ordered it be brought out of the sun, lest it become dry and brittle; the people obeyed and made haste in honoring this request, for they knew they had been commanded by their god.

Not all were not as attentive. All over the festival, once a competition, the figures made themselves known to their nations, and each nation heeded their similar commands just as they held their different ones; with the most devout faith they cared for the gods they made, and the gods had shined on them in new, more profound ways. The creatures of the land could express themselves more clearly; art had come to them, and love too. One chief failed to hear his people’s cries for help when they encountered the problem warned about by the first god.

By the time the chief of the strongest nation had finally heard what was going on the worst had already come to pass. Those who were celebrating with their god, eating, drinking, dancing, were clamoured closely around the god. Their chief, once he was able to fight through the throng, saw that their god had expired, dried and crumbled in pieces on the platform made for the celebration. That night there was no celebration. All the people went home, and the chief called a mourning for a full season. This became the winter of the land.