1001 Tales of Maj’Dul – by Odyllus, the Oracle of Lifire. The pages look blank. There is a line with an ‘x’ beside it.
Once upon a time there was a trotter named Soandso the great. The trotter came across a book, a mysterious book empty of tales, but filled with potential wonders. There was no title to the book, but it pleaded for one. Now the book was not good, not good at all. The dark black flesh bound cover reeked of this. The book also reeked of magic, a magic waiting for a title… waiting… waiting…
Curiosity plagued the mind of this trotter. “Could I name the tale to be told” the trotter wondered. “Would the tale be a foreboding one regardless of good intentions?” pondered the trotter. They say “curiosity killed the kerran” and this was a fact well known. But “those who risk reap the rewards” as well can be heard. Slowly, ever so slowly, Soandso took the pen from the quill and began to scribe the title of the tale…
Once in days long passed, days before the green turned to sand, there was a city of secrets. Within this city were promises of life everlasting for those of blind faith. Here the bloom would never wither, here is where the followers of the forgotten prayers came to reside, eternally.
This city was born from the words of an ancient dal, a prophet of the chants of oblivion. How he came to know the shadow of nonexistent powers is unknown, but know he did. He became a prophet in the shadows concealing his pursuit to a faith unknown.
To claim the shadowed faith the prophet abandoned the powers of dal. With his path aimed toward oblivion he was promised life evermore. A true follower of the nonexistent would surely enter evermore, but he would not enter alone.
In whispers of the dark the prophet spoke of the forgotten and her promise of evermore. The silent church was formed under the very gaze of dal. Risking exile the silent church would meet and seek new disciples. But even this was not enough.
The silent church would no longer fear exile, but welcome a life beyond the laws of dal. As silently as they were formed the church crept from the great empire and trekked to the nest of the forgotten. There they built a grand and hidden city, the city of evermore.
Many decades passed and the city of evermore grew. Deep in the great green prospered the prophet’s society rarely accepting outsiders and always silencing those unworthy souls that gazed upon the city of evermore. With great faith and swift brutality the city prospered. Death was soon to come.
The city of the forgotten and everlasting sat in secrecy within the lost lands of the great green of ancient dal. There it would have been evermore if it were not for the conflicts of powers and the demise of the great green.
The powers played their games upon Norrath and mortals perished. It would be one of these conflicts of the powers that brought death to the great green. Trees as tall as mountains, fields as wide as oceans… they all died as did the life within. The everlasting secret city also fell.
The faithful of the city everlasting prayed to the forgotten and cried to their prophet to save them. The prophet told them to drink from the great ewer, the very vessel that sprang life to the Fyr’Un, the River of Life that ran through the celestial worlds. And so they drank from the Ewer of Sul’Dae.
The citizens of the forever city faced the cataclysms that raged over the great green, never doubting they would survive. Together they sat in the streets and chanted the songs of the forgotten. Their high priests raised the 10 great Phoenix Staves onto the streets in hopes of protecting the city. Then they waited for death to approach.
What events took place after quenching their thirst and chanting of the forgotten is unknown. Does it hide in the shadows, swallowed by the upheaval? Did the chants and the staves save this city of the forgotten one? Is the city evermore or is it forever silent? Only the prophet of oblivion and his people know. – The End.