The First Age - The Birth

Ages come and ages go…Words become legends and legends forgotten…

The boy turned in his sleep as the dreams trampled across his mind. He kicked out into the woolen covers of his bed, turning and crying softly. Slowly the mists of his mind gave way to a lone figure standing across a barren and flat land. A land that stretched to the four corners where it met the encroaching darkness.

As the boy’s feet kicked his blankets the man moved. The movements of the man mimicking those of the sleeping boy…

The man continued walking until the movements of the sleeping boy became stilled. With a loud cry the man descended his walking stick into the brown and barren land. Where it stabbed the land, fissures grew and spread to the murky horizon. All around, the land cried…and as it cried, the boy cried.

Slowly two of these fissures grew too wide, and in turn, as always, these small parts of land slipped away and moved to where they moved.

The man watched as the pieces of land sailed away, and, in turn he became sad. This sadness turned into tears that washed across his body to fall upon the planted stick. As the tears caressed the wood, it grew. Its base forming roots that burrowed deeply into the land as the top climbed into the sky to split and divide. With each division the boy turned about his bed, his eyes moving heavily behinds lids captured deeply in REM.

The man stared at the tree and slowly fell to his knees. A smile came to his face as he drove his arms into the land. The coolness and smell of fresh earth brought a look of calmness and peace as the roots entangled his arms and carried the man deeply into it’s center.

Upon this, the cries of the land turned into song, and with that song the boy woke screaming into the morning…

As with all little boys he played outside, running around an old tree that stood in his yard. Under its shadow he played until the light became dark and once again he found himself in bed. With a soft kiss upon his forehead, his mother turned out the lights and wished him well. The boy curled with his favorite blanket and slept the sleep of youth.

The boy’s dreams came back to the land. But the land had changed. Where it was once barren it was green. Where it was flat, mountains grew. From these mountains, streams descend to the coast to mix with the emerald green waters of the seas.

As the tree grew, the song of the land became tinged with sadness. In his sleep the boy was lonely. So in his sleep the boy created, and in his creation, in his sleep, he failed to notice a shadow whispering in his ear…a shadow that spawned from a place under his bed...a place he forgot to check before he closed his eyes.

In the whisperings, and in the words, the boy created two groups…the watchers and the warders…the Gilmari and the Jalhadri…

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