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The stranger paused in his story.
Enthralled by the tale, we had not moved while he related the history of our world.
His voice, though soft, penetrated deep into our heads -- as if magical in nature.
The myth he spoke of was completely different from that which we knew, yet none protested.
We, the most seasoned warriors in all the lands, were drawn to the stranger and yet
on-edge, nervous, even fearful of this mere man. When a nearby owl took flight, we
flinched at the sudden flapping of wings.
The stranger chuckled, raised the smoldering pipe to his lips, and continued his
story.
"Do not automatically cast aside my story because it is different from those
you know of the gods. There is no proof that your priests are closer to the truth
than a wandering poet. The history of the gods is the will of the gods, not that
of humans. And thus, how would mere priests know the truth? Listen again as I continue.
This is the story of the land after the gods' disappearance. It is your own history." |