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.