The Seer Speaks...

Yénillor morne
tulinte I quettar
tercáno nuruva.

Hlasta! Qyetes
Hfirimain:


No one is certain which preceded the other: perhaps it was the people who came first, stumbling across the landscape with blithe feet and eyes that saw the beauty of the world with a virginal gleam. I do not refute this ideal, though most likely it was the moorlands and forests of Myalon which sprung into being far before those who would come to possess them, the crumbling rocks and aimless structures of temples misused by the winds and the cool breezes of the open fields. Regardless, from nothing springs creation, and from creation stems song, and like so many other peoples of fantastic worlds, their being can be wholly attributed to the slow rise and fall of blended voices.

But like so many, the voices can never be wholly pure, and into the original skien was woven a strain wholly different to that which it had intended. There was darkness within these deeper voices, talent which formed a deep and devious rift between the goodness and those who would eventually be birthed in its opposition; but that was, alas, far ages into the past. Now the world of Myalon, populated by an Elvish strain known as the Myalonians, remains to build up against that which is contained in the blood, the Souls.

But there are so many secrets which the Elves hold; so many secrets known only to the Pantheon, the six remaining members of that original golden chorus: three of whom sang so brilliantly for purity, three of whom roared so diligently for darkness.