“Before the Lion that Weeps swept down and conquered the nations of  Ahrasune,  Maharan, and Nhaga-resh, there existed a small monastery in the hills of Dharadin.” The Talespinner throws a handful of powder into the fire, which roars to life for but a moment, sending flames of green dancing about.  “The order that dwelled within the monastery were simply referred to as the Talamursa, or “Eaters of the Leaf”. These monks spent much of their time in silent contemplation, recording the visions that were granted to them after conducting a ceremony which focused around consuming the leaves from a sacred tree that grew at the heart of their monastery. Few records of the leaves describe them as being white as the pale moon, with veins of blue-silver. It is believed that this tree was one of a kind, and thrived nowhere else. For hundreds of years, the princes of Maharan made a pilgrimage upon their ascension to the throne, to sit at the feet of the wise monks, and they received a scroll which

The chill autumn wind whispers through the leaves and dances among the flickering flames of the campfire. The Talespinner leans forward in his oaken chair, one hand upon his staff decorated with bones, feathers, bells and a dozen other trinkets, and wrapped in vibrant dyed suede. His lined face cracks into a smile, and the firelight glitters off of his golden eyes. “The nights when the veil between worlds grows thin have passed, and a new year is soon upon us. The cold winds will sweep down from the Bitter North, and cloak the world in snow and ice, until the spring comes to shake off the cold once again.” The Talespinner clears his throat and takes a long drink from a wooden cup. “These are when the nights grow long, and the only times when our people are allowed to settle, while the animals and the spirits sleep. I bring to you one of our first tales, passed down through the ages. I will speak it as it was spoken to me many years ago.” “Let us begin when the world was new,