First Mortal Epoch

Little is known about the First Mortal Epoch, save what is recorded below.

An Immortal Building Contest

Many years ago, before sentience was granted to mortals and while they wandered the world unclothed and purposeless, the Gods looked down on them with pity. Their creations hid in terror from the sun, and shivered from the fall rains, and took shelter in shallow caves when the night arrived and the moon shone brightly in the sky. It was then that Lleis spoke to each of the other Gods and proposed a contest; for in those days, even the Gods could be called 'young', and they oft took to sport and games.

Her beautiful melodic voice sang out to the Immortals and it challenged them each to take pity upon the mortals and build for them a place for them to live, where they might hide from the sun or moon, their Celestial Demons, and keep them warm from the howling winds that often ripped across the continent. Many of the Gods and Goddesses, looking to stand higher in the Eyes of the Creator, gladly took up the challenge.

In the North of the Continent, Iosyne took the clay that lined a fertile seashore, and began to mold it into beautiful arches and brilliant architecture. Streets took shape as Inspiration flowed from Her fingers, and elaborate fountains and plazas began to create a beautiful pattern where mortals might learn from the power of Art and Beauty, and thus protect their hearts from the cold and harsh world that existed around them.

In the South of the Continent, Lanos grasped the sands and dug straight paths and perfect angles to create a picture of geometric regularity. It was He who was able to create beautiful monuments, each edge straight and true, to symbolize the power of Truth to lead mortals forward into the coming years. His buildings, although not possessing the beauty of those of Iosyne, were utilitarian and solid, able to survive even the worst hurricane that might travel across the oceans. Even the stones that made them up were Perfect carvings of Rough Ashlar found in Moghedu.

To the East of the Continent, Severn, always looking to improve His station, took the challenge to heart as well. Though not possessing the Grace of Iosyne or the ability to carve Perfectly like His Brother, He nonetheless took the rocky soil and began to build. His streets wove back and forth, and those buildings He constructed were lopsided and unstable. His paths were uneven and His structures leaked during the worst of the Spring rains.

When it came time to judge the dwellings, Lleis and Varian looked upon each in turn and discussed amongst Themselves Their opinions on the matter. The Gods sat anxiously waiting for Their decision and even Haern came and joined them in watching the deliberations. After many days, Varian and Lleis turned to the gathered crowd of Divinities, and spoke to Them.

The Creator spoke first, His voice echoing across reality, "Each of the mortals shall benefit from Your creations, for many years to come. For with this, You have heralded in a new period of civilization for them. May they prosper in the places You have built for them, and may they show Us the diversity of their spirits."

Then the harmonic beauty of the voice of Lleis enraptured them as She spoke. "I asked You each to take compassion on the creatures that roam the Creation, and You each did. But a choice must be made, for this is still a contest and a Winner must be declared."

And then it was declared, to the surprise of most assembled, that the victory should go to Haern. For He had created the beautiful and elegant trees of the forest, and given many creatures homes where they did not once have them, and had provided for them with food and protection from harm. Though He had beaten the others, most were not upset at Their loss; it was clear that the competition was tight and that the uniqueness of Haern's creation was unmatched.

But still, one was upset. Severn, angry over His loss, strode to His creation and began to destroy it. He threw the stones about and destroyed the marketplaces and roads that He had spent so much time building. Sulking for many years to come, Severn would not forget His loss easily. It was a small consolation to Him that the ruins would provide refuge to many creatures in the years to come.

The Becoming of the Trolls

The mortal Ulgar, renowned for his calm demeanor, his wisdom, and his honor, was loved by most all of the Gods. He spent many an hour under the old birch in the Ithmia, contemplating the meaning of existence or discussing the essence of being with his peers. It was not uncommon for him to give lectures to or host discussions among his mortal brethren. Not only was his mind gifted, he possessed a remarkably steady arm and was an excellent sculptor and artist, truly a favorable man.

But Ulgar lacked in one trait. He was no warrior. His small posture and crooked legs carried him slowly across the lands. His skin was pale in contrast to the young warriors he watched from the shade while they worked out in the clearings of the forest.

On a cold winter's night, The Muse, Iosyne, had ordered a gathering of sorts. Mortals from across the realm attended this fest. Poetry and prose were read, plays were performed, and all were joyous. At the pinnacle of the evening, Ulgar was to deliver an essay. He spoke long and zealously of the path of the warrior, an epic of great skill pleasing the Muse and Her Siblings. One Deity, however, was not pleased with the contents of his speech and pondered a plot to scorch the mortal's mind.

The next day, as Ulgar sat and watched the warriors train from under the old birch as many a day, he perceived a rustling in the undergrowth behind him. When he rose to stand and looked to see what he had heard, his eyes met a most wondrous creature of great beauty, a young maiden, who emerged from the woods. Her figure was as if it were perfectly drawn by the Muse Herself. She had the blackest hair imaginable accompanied by fiery blue eyes. She strode toward him. Ulgar trembled slightly as she drew near and laid a gentle peck on his forehead.

"Greetings, Ulgar," she said.

"Good day, fair maiden," Ulgar replied. "You know my name?"

The maiden smiled slightly and said, "Your name and your fame, wisest of all mortals."

Ulgar, flattered by the words this beautiful young woman spoke to him, became enraptured with her beauty.

"Tell me thy name, fair maiden, and allow me to accompany you on your path through the woods. Danger can lurk in the canopy," said Ulgar, a tremor in his voice.

"Though your wisdom is renowned, your protection may not help me, Ulgar. Perhaps one of these young men can accompany me," she said, glancing toward the warriors training in the clearing nearby.

Ulgar sighed as he said, "I would give anything to gain their strength and posture."

The woman smiled and said, "Would you forgo your wisdom to gain strength and posture, in order to serve me?"

Her electrifying gaze met his eyes, and he frowned slightly. Then, as if struck by the lightning of her beauty, all doubt fell from his mind, and he uttered a wholehearted "Aye." When he opened his eyes once more, he noticed the maiden's blue eyes had subdued to a shade of grey, her black hair wavered as the wind suddenly picked up, and she grew in size until she towered several feet above him. Fear struck Ulgar's heart as he realized he stood eye to eye with Chakrasul.

A soft chuckle echoed from the frame of the Goddess. "And so falls the wisest of all mortals before Me and My seduction. You will serve Me well, Ulgar, a witless, mindless object of power. Strength to you!"

Ulgar held his breath as he suddenly felt a change occurring around and within him, while his body grew in size and strength, his mind blanked. He noticed how his skin thickened and took on a ruddy grey-green color and his formerly crooked legs now stood muscular and strong under his considerable torso. As each fiber, each muscle of his body rebuilt itself; a dim haze fell deeper and deeper over his once cunning mind. He lost the power of speech and was no longer able to think coherently. When the change had stopped, Ulgar fell to the ground, exhausted.

When Ulgar awakened, he found himself within the forests, yet he knew not how or when. Nearly all recollection of what had passed had left his mind. He wandered endlessly through the forests in his new form, searching for answers to questions he barely understood. When he came across the old birch he was so accustomed to sitting under, a single thought crossed his mind, and an eerie feeling that he had once been an intelligent being settled in his heart. This feeling grew so strong that Ulgar picked up an edged stone and wounded himself deeply. The wound caused by the stone bled lightly, and though the pain stayed, he witnessed his skin closing up under his eyes. That soft feminine chuckle filled his head. "You will not get away so easily, Ulgar." Once again, Ulgar laid himself down and slept.

"Wake up, Ulgar," boomed a male voice in his ear. Following his primal instincts, Ulgar quickly got to his feet and found himself facing a knight arrayed in shining armor. An imposing figure of great height, long, straight nose, firm-set jaw, and high, aristocratic cheekbones, golden hair tied neatly back with a leather cord. He realized he stood before Arion, the God of Valor. Ulgar stumbled back and nearly fell to the ground.

"Your wish has been one of weakness and folly, Ulgar. True strength does not merely lie in the brawn of muscle. Strength also resides within the heart. I pity you, for you have always been a wise and valiant man. I cannot wholly undo what My Sister has done; you will nevermore be who you were. Yet all is not lost. Pledge yourself to My path, strengthen yourself against the seduction of corruption, and I will take you, and all the progeny you will bear, to be My own. Speak now, Ulgar!"

Upon hearing the words, Ulgar felt again the gift of language bestowed upon his mind. His thoughts now slightly more organized, he stuttered, "Please, Lord."

"So be it, Ulgar. The path will be long and arduous, but you will learn once more. Sleep now, first of the Trolls."

The Origins of the Imps & Pixies

As told by Orechnai:

Once, long ago, there was a castle at the heart of a small kingdom called Sehal, within which lived the wise Queen Beye with her twin daughters. Sehal was prosperous and known as a place of warmth and comfort, so deeply did her people revere Laughter as holy and cleansing.

Then, in one stroke, it seemed their fortune had deserted them. Famine and drought plagued their bountiful fields and many fled Sehal, fearing starvation. Laughter languished, forgotten. The Queen gave of her own food to the people, that they could survive another day. Beye's generosity and selflessness is known to us even now, for her name is synonymous with kindness. In the winter of that year Queen Beye, weakened with hunger, succumbed to disease and perished. The princesses thus became royal orphans at the age of ten.

Yet spring seemed to remember Beye's gentle ways, for the rains were plenty and the harvest certain to be plentiful in the fall. With renewed hope, the people of Sehal worked the fields, forgetting the troubles in the castle.

The princesses, Kipa and Sazi, were intelligent girls but children nonetheless. It is said that loneliness is the maker of much grief, eating at the soul like caterpillar at leaf. Slowly but surely, all is devoured and no remnant of wisdom remains. After many adventures in the castle of mischief and play, which shall not be recounted here, Kipa and Sazi knew that they were lonely. The castle was a mess, and they had no friends.

"O, sacred Laughter," the girls said together, "Please, send someone to care for us. We do not know how to wash our hair, and our cooking has killed the maid!"

"Then show me your prayer, daughters of Beye," said their Goddess.

And they laughed. They laughed together for a night and a day. Kipa giggled in delight, her voice sweet with girlish charm. Her giggles broke into ten thousand parts and from these shards came tiny winged folk, lovely to the eye and delicate in frame. Sazi cackled in good humor, her voice loud with devotion. The cackle melted and dripped into small, squat people, more cunning and full of mischief than any that ever were.

Laughter spoke once more, "I give to you servants and caretakers. Treat them well."

Household affairs started out well enough in the castle of Sehal. Kipa's servants were adept at scrubbing the ceilings and Sazi's servants devised elaborate schemes whereby the dishes would wash themselves. And in the evening, they would play great games both academic and athletic, laughing all the while.

To them, it seemed but a short interval before they came of age. Young women were they, and tradition demanded that only one of them could rule the kingdom as Queen of Sehal. "You are kind," whispered Kipa's companions to her, "your mother would have wanted you to take her place. Your sister knows nothing of compassion."

"Your mind is bright and quick," whispered Sazi's servants to her, "The people deserve your leadership. Your sister will never have your wisdom." Each came to believe that she deserved to rule and even came to loathe the other.

The castle became divided. In one wing sat the discontented Kipa, anxious to please her mother's memory. Though her companions flitted about her, laughing on stained-glass wings, she could not know happiness while Sehal was not hers. In the other wing brooded Sazi, worried over how best to benefit the whole of the kingdom. Her little friends, too, tumbled and bounced at her feet with their little horns, but she could barely smile for her tension.

Finally, Laughter intervened. She came and proclaimed, "Whichever of you should pray the strongest shall have the kingdom." They should have heard the tremor of humor in Her voice. They should have suspected.

The princesses and their servants complied. From one end of the castle came giggling bright as stars, and from the other came cackling to raise mountains. And in the center, the ground split open and the rift ran all the way across the kingdom of Sehal, dividing it in two. The girls were possessed by bitterness and revulsion for one another, believing the other responsible for destroying the work of their mother.

"It is done!" snickered Laughter, and disappeared.

Thus was the nation of Kipa, meaning "pixie" in the Old Tongue, and the nation of Sazi, meaning "imp", given to us. Ever have they been at war, though their laughter can still be heard in twilight amidst their games.

The Origin of the Kelki

As told by Moira:

The seas teemed with beautiful lives, darting among her tides. Long ago had the Grooks begun to populate the fresh waters, and the folk of fin and scale to build their kingdom of the deep. Yet the shallows were untouched by intellect, the reefs deaf to wit. The ocean surged and sprayed, contemplating for ages.

At last, Life and Change met in a stormy froth, creating a new creature to rule the salted waters. It drowned within moments, fear in its many eyes. The sky wept with rain for weeks, flooding distant shores with grief. Not long after did the storms of creation come again, shaping a being of wit and flailing tentacles, yet it too perished. Again did the skies weep. The tides swelled and swept, again and again, adjusting and altering until there was one creature that survived.

"It is repulsive," said the Muse, finding no beauty in their forms. The seas seemed to agree, for they cast the success away into shadow. The descendants of this creature would come to name themselves "devi tiyrilisa", meaning the abandoned ones, and now known simply as "tyrill". Surprise has been expressed that they lived at all without the love of the waters, and it is suspected that Another's hand intervened.

One final time did Life and Change converge, seeking skin smooth as the porpoise and minds sharp as coral. Though they could not breathe the waters of their Creator, they yet gave to her their worship. The oceans were pleased and the Muse spoke again, murmuring in Her Sister's ear, "They are lovely."

So it was that the Kelki were born, and began construction on our greatest work, building a great city beneath the waves in which to research and frolic in equal measure.

The Origins of the Tsol'aa

As sung by Ta'hena, the sage:

There was a time when all the world was mysterious to the eyes of ignorant mortals, and trees were companions in their silence. The Celestine had gifted us with sentience, yet still did we live like beasts from the kindnesses of the forests. They brought food when our bellies ached, shelter when the demons of thunder roiled, and water when our throats were parched.

In this time of safety and contentment, there was one mortal more ambitious than the rest. She was named Losi'al, meaning gaze of the moon. She spoke to the forest thusly: "I am wracked with guilt, my friends! Kindly have you provided for me all my life, yet I can give nothing in return! I take from you, and take again, with nothing but my gratitude to offer. I am a wretch, O Great Provider, unfit to walk your ground. What can I do?"

The Canopy listened and thought. Losi'al waited, but then as now, mortal patience was not as long as that of the forest. While she waited, she married and bore a son. Eventually her life came to a clumsy end. Losi'al died believing the forests had not heard her plea at all. But when her son (called Sironn, meaning wide smile) came of age, the forest spoke to him, saying: "What is a song? We do not know what it is to sing."

And Sironn, little more than a boy, hastily explained the mortal concept of music and composition. "Though not as beautiful as dawn through your leaves," he said earnestly, "we yet make sounds pleasing to our ears. Can you not hear us?"

Again, the Canopy pondered. The young man grew, took a wife, and raised five children. All the while he sang and played upon a thousand crude instruments. For fifty years, it seemed the leaves crowded closer in audience and the ferns trembled in anticipation. Sironn's bones grew brittle and mind crisp with age, his fingers shaking upon his pipes, yet never did he lose hope. Finally the Canopy answered: "If you wish it, you may become our song."

Sironn did not know the meaning of this offer, and was loathe to ask for a clarification he would not live to hear. After a brief discussion, he and his family agreed. Together, they asked that the Great Provider make them its song, as well as the departed Losi'al. The Canopy, in rare excitement, accepted their offer only five years later.

"The green tongue we give to you," said the wood. "You are the Tsol'aa, the Song of the Canopy. Sing to us of your life that is so fleeting, and we will care for you as we ever have."

And so it remains.