by The Rat
The creation myth for Rethelm, Told by the last seer from the valley of Belfast.
Islantharos (The Great Tale)
By The young Rat
"Take this story with you and never forget it" a damp age-old voice rasped. A weathered but kindly looking woman draped in old clothing sat next to a young girl by the fire. "It is the last thing I will ever give you and you shall live with it till the end of your days..."
"What do you mean by that?" inquired the younger, in a sweet voice.
The old woman did not acknowledge her question but instead went to the edge of the lake and stirred it with her walking stick then gazed as though the story she was about to tell was written in the ripples of the glassy water. She began....
We live in a land known by many names in every tongue, but in the time of this story, and in truth its name is Rethelm. When and why this name came to be is long forgotten along with its mother language, but the story has held steadfast in the memory of man. It was in the valley of Belfast under a blue moon in which every tale begins. Born from the earth were seven great beings from which all life has sprung. First was Spalding a Great oak Ent with bows that could cradle the entire eastern sky. He was the father of all that was green above the soil. Next came Draenor a vast and enduring lichen which spread deep into every crevasse of the earth giving birth to all flora beneath the ground. Then for a time there was silence as the earth was blanketed in green like a cradle of life
Unto this space came the twins; Lidireaus the great whale who was king of the vast oceans and father to all that inhabit them; and His sister whose name was Andriel the Chimera with hooves on her hind legs paws on her front, a great maw similar to that of a Leprous with horns of a stag and a tail that was a serpent powerful and venomous. She was the spring from which all who crawl on the earth and swing through the trees flowed. And with them life began to take on new more adventurous forms.
Never one to be out done the proud eagle Veseroth took flight from the bows of Spalding so that his kin could cover the sky with a plethora colors broader than any spectrum ever beheld by the naked eye. And with his arrival came the dawn of the first age. A time without death. Without limits, war, or hunger. But all was not well in the domain of Rethelm for with great prosperity always comes a potential for shadow and as the dawn spread across the great plain an Unease came upon the land. From this disturbance sprang the two sorrows of the earth, Death a dark rider from the cold of the North and Misery a shadow that always fell in his wake. These two were the bringers of the second age, but worry not for with this great darkness came the most hopeful thing of all.
The five great races of our land were born. These were the ones who could bring balance in the endless push and pull of life and death. When the shadow fell upon Spalding there came the harpy of the high lands a beautiful race who lived peacefully in the trees and enjoyed wine and merriment to great extent. From darkness and Draenor came the dwarves a crafty and creative race, with short stature and stubborn nature that made them great at navigating mines and exemplary craftsmen but laughable diplomats. The darkness of Lidireaus bore the Krell, or merfolk as they are known today. They built a vast civilization and accrued great riches under the ocean though they were always too shy to show any of the surface there home. From our mother Andriel and darkness humans descended, a great race, though we were full of rage and desire we also held great potential and were able to build a wondrous Kingdom and pursue some fine adventures. Finally the last of the great races came from Veseroth and they were the fae. A magical and wise race who wore wings and lived in the clouds close to the branches of the trees at the outer reaches of Spaulding's great woods. They were a proud race and never would take criticism so they stayed far from scrutinizing eyes and though they could help the world they seldom did.
And once the push and pull came to be, the evil in the world bore two powerful and terrible races of its own. In the bowls of a deep volcano untouched by even the children of Draenor was born the torchel. They had grey skin and black eyes with teeth like needles and deformed bodies they skulked at the edge darkness and filled minds with hate and resentment where ever they went. In the Skylands, far from the reaches of the fae upon the floating islands formed the dawntredders beings of perfect form and mind with skin smooth like gold and steps quieter then snowfall. They were evil in that beyond anything they were self-serving and this tainted them for in every action they made there was a lack of humility.