PROLOGUE

"Now how do I start ? Hmmm....." I mused.

"Why don't you just write your message and be done with it ?" Said the Cori'oyoise woman sitting across the table, her hands clumsily grasping a mug made for more dextrous, human hands. "That's what we do when we want to warn people about dangerous fishing grounds and predators in the deep."

"Because humans are like children. They don't understand logic unless it is spoonfed to them with stories and myths. If you tell a kid that lying is bad he won't listen. But if you tell him about how Saint Vaal lost his son because he lied then he'll understand it."

"Oh! That happened to my brother. He went hunting for a Gerushi in the middle of the great pulling, despite our best efforts. From then on we wrote short summaries of experiences we had as warnings for the children."

"No, no, no! They have to relate to the characters, be invested in their lives. Then it will hit them right where I want it to."

"I know! I know! " chirped a girl "How about a long description of the lead's face and body. Like so" she continued , putting on a softer smoother voice, " His chiseled chest, as if it were sculpted out of marble, his eyes glistening in the morning sun like glowing orbs of passion, his waist thinning into a majestic..."

"Vivian, Vivian that's enough. I look nothing like that and I'm not about to embellish my biography after a life spent pursuing the truth. You read too many back alley playwrights. How about trying something more classical sometimes ?"

"But the classics are such a bore. I would rather listen to the priests' sermons instead." She replied.

"Why not just start a parable on the high seas, an adventure at the helm and a man with a purpose, brandishing his sword at the sun. It's exciting and cuts straight to the chase. Like the tales of Old Captain Mercutio." Said a woman with skin the color of ebony, hers scars telling a tale of adventure, passion and not a few drunken nights with a pint too many of mead, her eyes drifting into nostalgia.

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"I don't use a sword though." I replied, " And it has to be familiar to me. Something personal. More timeless and enduring."

" You're too damn picky on your standards. At this rate you'll never even begin writing." A Kogdtrugul man called out, as he sat down on the mattress laid out over the cavern floor.

"I'm just saying, but you can never go wrong with Lord Everston's style of writing. Never lost me for a minute." Said the hulking mammoth of a man eating yam crisps by the fireside.

"My life isn't a bloody folk tale, Enrique. It's real as the dirt beneath my feet. " I spat.

"Oh really ? You're standing on a stone floor though."

"It's a figure of speech." I sighed.

"Well then, riddle me this genius - how many others do you know that have gone toe to toe with an elder dragon and lived to tell the tale ?" He mimed.

He had taken after my style of discourse, after years on the road together, as friends do, but with a pinch too many of sarcasm. His sharp wit was , though, a welcome addition to his rather unsuspecting demeanor.

"Well, there's Saint Vaal and King Panahadun." I replied, realising only too late, as he retorted.

"And both of them have entire religions based around them."

"Touché. Alright then it's settled." I said as a prattle of shoes against stone and the swinging of the doors rang out into the cavern below, another group of people entering the room.

"Happy Renewal to you comrades! You didn't start inscribing without me did you ?" Said the man at the front, a turban on his head embellished with ornaments from the festivities. A piece of chicken here, a stain of shurpa pie drippings there. He had had fun at the feast. I smiled.

"Here's some gifts from Keira. She couldn't come this time either." Said the boy lagging behind him at half a pace. He was still as shy as ever, preferring the company of books over people, as did I at his age. Alas, I had none but the holy book to read. So much time wasted that I could have spent reading. I saw a bit of me in him I must admit. But his trauma had taken him down a path I never took. Perhaps I should start paying more attention to him, help him with the guilt plaguing him.

"Start writing already; the reagents are drying out." He said, rousing me from my musings.

"Huh?! Oh right, the reagents!" I scramble, grabbing the implement, as sparks of lightning arced around my hand. The smell of burnt pfinseled oil filled the room and I put down the words that would boggle the minds of and spark many a debate for future historians and seekers.

" Once upon a time, in a land far far away ...."