Philippe of Morgarath

Prologue

-an introduction with history. For the start of the story go to chapter one-

"It all started with land. Rough, dark earth. Big chunks of stone, rising from unaware depth. Paths, created by mere footsteps of creatures still unknown. Trees as old as time, protecting small leaves from the bright light of the never noticed sun.

In the east of this rough land, were mountains. Huge pieces of stone risen from the earth, and disappeared again in the west, where it changed into flat, fertile land. A world, pure and still undiscovered, surrounded by a dark, mysterious blue sea. A sea which turns sharp edges, into gentle sand.

The earth was still untouched, when the first human steps were made. A people emerged, and established itself on this unknown land. They walked on two legs, and called the land theirs. For thousands of years, the land changed to the will of its people. The living built, picked, and hunted. Species came to life, while others disappeared.

Then, when the land got older, pieces of it let go. They got carried away by the sea, and took with them, a second form of species. Creatures, robust and rough. With big, curled horns on top of their heads, and dark bulging eyes. Their crooked legs, and hooked noses were seen as abominable by the eyes of the original inhabitants. These originals saw it happen. The creatures, the horrified, stole pieces of land and floated away on top of them. Each year, they were further and further away from their origin; from their rightful owners. Standing at the side of the shore, their eyes filled with tears, they came up with a plan. A part of the original inhabitants decided to fight back. These creatures weren't allowed what was rightfully theirs. They emerged, and developed new skills. They worked together towards one goal: winning back the land that was their own, and taking it back to its rightful owners. They discovered that dry wood floats, and designed ships; ships that became their trait later on. With loud uproar and righteousness, they navigated towards the islands, to take back that what was once theirs, long ago.

Violently, they beat the ugly creatures off of the islands, and with mocking eyes they saw them swim back to the big land. Hundreds of them drowned, while those that made it to the shore got spread out, not used to land as big as this one. They lost each other, and disappeared. The islanders tried to bring the land back to its origin, but noticed within a split second that they liked it on these islands. With their ships they communicated with each other. This way, they created a new form of existence. Kings formed, stepped on their thrones and got killed. Rulers emerged, and disappeared. The islands were now their homes, the ships their treat.

The inhabitants of the mainland, saw what happened. Half of them went south, and hid inside the mountains, while the other half looked for comfort in between high trees and cooling shades. The place where the mountains reached the highest, became a new border for both. The species living in the east, used to roughness and commotion, liked the right side of this land. There where they lived, the mountains reached high and pierced the sky, while to the west, there wasn't a single mountain to see. The water they had, came from the tops of the highest places, and emerged in two small streams of water, crossing the land. Not enough for nature to bloom, so they hid in the shades of caves.

These Borwalèn, creatures of the rocks, built communities in the middle of this robust, angry land. They developed and adjusted to a lack of meat, water and air. There were no forests to protect them, and there was not enough water to feed them. They learned how to live with these tough circumstances, and became rough in everything they did. Mines were dug. steel and silver got collected. The most beautiful weapons ever created, got made. The most pure of items were invented. Every single one of them, similar to the people themselves: tough, and powerful. They do not listen, to a king. They do not answer to a God. They live for a leader; the one with the strongest arms, will guide them to the future, and will give them the urge to survive. Only him, that proves himself as a born leader, will lead.

The western people however, liked the calm and quiet of the green, low lands. There where the east had mere mountains, they had fertile lands, wet and afforest. Yet they couldn't adjust that easily. They tried to change nature, to make it do what they wanted it to do. They cut down trees, they planted seeds where they did not belong. They tried to make the water go where they wanted to, instead of adjusting themselves to nature's will. Hundreds of years passed, when one of them arose. She was touched by nature; she spoke her language. She spread her arms, and whispered the words of nature to her people. She whistled the forest's songs, and felt its pain. The fighting people listened to her, and repented. Nature, which they fought, did not want to fight them. She did not want pain; just acceptance. The people kneeled down, and with painful hearts they crawled to the forests and sweet water. They ripped of their clothes, and lived as one with nature. As with each other. They called themselves the people of Nealèn, meaning remorse in their own language. The girl, later known as the Goddess of the Forest, was their ruler. They became nature's servants, and got nature's gifts. They learned to use these gifts, and practiced white magic. Nature guided them, just like the Goddess promised.”

Maldun closed the heavy book he hold in his hands and looked at the five-year-old, that stared back at him with big, green eyes. His dark brown curls were wild, and they hid his eyes partially, still showing the light green color they had. This wasn't the first time he told this story to his Lord's oldest son. The story of the origin of their land. Yet, with each time he read it out loud, the kid seemed more and more interested. “And”, he asked the kid, “Where do we live?” It took many seconds, before Christophe realized the story was over and a question was asked. His eyes started shining, and a big smile covered his face. “Molwel”, he yelped. Maldun tried not to smile. “Morwerth, yes”, he agreed to the heir of his people. “But we don't go by just Morwerth, do we? We call ourselves Morwerth's people. Do you know why?” Christophe looked around, until he opened his mouth and babbled: “Pide.” Again, Maldun corrected the boy. “Pride. We're the people of pride.”

He scraped his throat, and looked at the book he held in his hands. The people of pride... yes. Pride gone thus far, that they destroyed a peaceful existence with all inhabitants, and creatures. The way the people developed has been bad, for mankind. A pure misguidance, caused by the true nature of the creature you are. He looked up, when he heard the door open. Malowèn of Morgarath, first of his name and ruler of the people of Morwerth, father of the brown, curly kid in front of him, looked at him with exhausted eyes. Sweat on his forehead, slowly dripping down crossing his early showing wrinkles. Quickly Maldun pushed away the book, he knew the man did not like him reading it to his firstborn. “It's time”, Malowèn said. “It's time for Christophe, to meet his new born brother.”