“In the beginning, the great Odua, our forefather, our great ancestor journeyed from the skies above, with the power of the great one, he landed on the blessed world. Odua, the great torchbearer, the chosen one of our people, brought us to this land, with the blessings of the great one, we were to call this place our home.

It was a land of plenty, a land rich in the bounties of the earth, or so we were told, for many centuries have passed, and yet, we taste nothing but ash and sand. The fabled descendants of Odua, the great Ogun, blade master and forgesmith, powerful Sango and his song of fire and lightning, beautiful Oya and her healing streams, wise Ifa and his peerless sight.

Where are they now?, where is the might of Ogun said to cleave mountains and split valleys in two?, the thunder of Sango that brought his enemies to their knees?. Where is Oya, when our offsprings died of cruelty and hunger, where was she?, or Ifa, who couldn’t see this calamity that was to befall their descendants?.

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Most of all, where is our great one?, the great being who ferried Odua here?, from a land we have no recollection of?. I say it, we were nothing but a joke to the great one, a jest and Odua his willing pawn, and now we die off, fading into the unwritten history of this accursed world of death and blood, forever to be nothing but slaves in the coming new age. I weep for my descendants, I weep for my people who would face even worse than I see, for I know, I see it as clearly as day,

It has only begun.

Lost records of an unknown civilization, found in second age.