The Dawn of Time and the First Age
The Dawn of Time and the First Age
Long before the human race crawled from the dust of creation, the first of the Great Trees bore fruit deep in the Primordial woods of the virgin world of Argos. From these fruits came the first elves; tall, slender, star-eyed, and with the moon's silver in their hair. Under the Great Tree, they sang the first songs, and they danced with the rays of the sun and the beams of the moon.
In those days, long before the reckoning of time, the Eldren walked between the stars. These marshals of creation watched the darkness that lay behind the light, and stood watch over that which the Pantocrator had brought into being. All was good and true, and life blossomed in the worlds.
Aeons passed like water down a stream, and slowly the lands drifted apart; ancient races walked the hills and valleys, and passed into the mists of time forgotten. All this was guarded by the elves, for even then, evil seeped into Creation. It was also in this age that the Pantocrator vanished. Whereto, or whyfore is not known to any of the created, but for the first time since the First Word Its voice could not be heard.
Thus began what the Older Races call The Cold.
It was in this age that Man built the first hut, tamed the first beast, and tilled the first field. This was the beginning of the First Age of Man. While these young human tribes struggled against the wind and the wild, the elves and the Eldren watched over them and guided them.
Then the foul star, Maleastra, the Great Exarch Cthulhu, fell through the tapestry of Creation and onto the world of Argos, and innocence died. The star struck the First Great Tree, splitting it asunder and sinking its lands deep into the sea.
It drove a madness deep into the soul of those elves who had sprung from it, and their souls became so warped that their bodies could not contain it. Thus the Black Blood, the Orc, this hideous blasphemy, came into Creation.
Corruption and hatred seeped from the fallen Thing That Must Not Be, and as this darkness grew, it became stronger. The elves, guardians of this world, marched to war, doing battle with their fallen kin. But so great was this enemy that all seemed lost. Even the mighty Eldren, coming from the stars in their vast ships, could not prevail.
Man, the youngest of the races, had built the first cities when the First Great War began. Their greatest heroes, and with them the gods of Man, went to fight beside the elves and the Eldren - their guardians - but still the darkness grew. Many were those who perished, and many were those who fell into the Deep.
One man, thrice named, born of a line of heroes, saw that the world was coming to an end. He also saw that the Eldren no longer believed in the Creation, and that in their war on the Exarch they were destroying the very fabric of that which they should protect. This one man, once named Ertuil, set out to seek the Fire of the Gods.
He travelled deep into the cold lands of eternal winter, braving countless dangers and facing unspeakable horrors. Many are the tales of the journey of this man, twice named Jarabathon, but at long last he came to the Tower of the North.
Though the Eldren knew of him, they did not see him when he climbed the stairs of the Tower, for they did not know his name. And so it was that he, thrice named Hermes Primomagistos, reached Olympos and stole the Fire of the Gods.
Thus armed he returned to the his people, and he shared his secret with them. With this fire, a glimmer of light was again brought into the world, and the tide was slowly turned. Still the Great War lasted for many generations, until finally the army of gods and men and elves drove the Exarch into the Abyss.
Here at last the first of the gods, Dis Invictus, drove his spear through its heart. Yet that is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die.
And so it was that the First Age came to an end.
[Picture source: Magic Words]