So - I'm a fantasy writer and RPG-storyteller. And playing in a world of our own creation for the last 6-7 years has really left me and my RPG-group with some fascinating adventures that I'd wanted to write down as books for years. So after after spending the last couple of weeks writing a couple of chapters, I realized that Steemit would be the perfect platform to test out the story and my own writing, specially in English. Now, english is NOT my main language, not by far, so the story under here has been translated, as well as I could've done it, since many of the sentences are pretty much impossible to translate in a good way because of the language. Anyhow, I'd love for people to read the short prologue to the book, which as of now is the only part that I've translated to English. Please note that I chose to give you the prologue instead of chapter 1, because of the length and because I want criticism about the prologue (and epilogue later on). If you enjoy this, even though it's a poorly translated prologue-draft, please be sure to tell me and maybe I'll post chapter 1 (and more) here too. Now, enjoy this short prologue and the first insight into the continent of Noorhland a dark and horrible place on the planet Aneros.

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Prologue - Storyteller

In the dark starry night on a large meadow they were gathered, a large crowd of godchilds who had come to hear the words of Storyteller. On top of a boulder as high as a man, the old man sat cross legged, his long bushy beard was wrapped around his neck like a gray scarf to help the old man to keep warm, despite the Baanian summer heat that still remained in the air. The man on top out of the stone was dressed in a red and white robes that clothed him from the top of the shoulders all the way down to the feet. The shoulder bag in leather as he was known to always carry with him was next to him and when some children tried to approach to look more closely at the bag, he cleared his throat and blinked kindly to the young men who quickly pulled away.

He looked around the meadow, there were hundreds godchilds here, to which he was accustomed. Storyteller’s tales were well appreciated on the continent, and wherever he went, many always turned up in great numbers to hear him speak. He stuck his right hand in the bag while he was looking through the inside of his robes with the left hand. The collection of people laughed a little when man finally got out his wooden box with tobacco and a long elegant pipe made of the purest corir. In a murmur of voices the mass watched the old man slowly fill his pipe with tobacco.

Suddenly he looked up. "Does anyone have a light?" His voice almost echoed over the crowd, which immediately became quiet when he opened his mouth. Before anyone had time to react as a young one had fought his way through the crowd and held up a firestick. Storyteller looked down on the young godchild with his large yellow eyes and smiled a big smile when he finally took firestick offered to him. When the fire broke out at the end of the stick and the light from it approached the pipe the otherwise gray-white metal shone with a bright red glow. Storyteller took a few deep puffs from his pipe and blew out a cascade of smoke into the air.

His gaze went back to firestick and then to the boy as he looked more carefully, had it been a human child in front of him, he had guessed that it was a young boy of 12 years, but it was not a man but instead a felya. "Tell me, young man, what old are you?" The boy was immediately flushed his otherwise snow-white cheeks turned red as he nervously tried to hide behind the long black hair that went down over the face. "I'm not dangerous, come, you want to sit up here with me?" Storyteller’s voice was deep and almost thundered when he spoke, but there was a kindness in his voice that was rare to find on the continent which otherwise was so cold and hard .

The young felya eagerly nodded his head and quickly began to climb up the stone to take its place beside Storyteller who smiled kindly at him. The crowd was filled with a whispering cackle and the air was full of fortunes and blessings and eventually when some started to clap their hands the crowd broke out in applause all over the meadow. Storyteller slowly raised his hand to quiet everyone. "Well, tell me, what's your name and how old are you?" He looked at the crowd and added, "Yes, do not worry about them, you’re sitting on the stone and talking to me, there is no other here." The felya that had seemed so shy and been so quiet suddenly as if a different person after Storytellers words. The boy looked around and it seemed as if he could not see that there was anyone else in the meadow. He laughed and looked back at Storyteller. "My name is Ki'yin, I'm one and one lunar month old, erh…” The felya paused and started counting on his fingers. “170 years of the human era." The old man took a few puffs from his pipe and nodded. "You do not have long until you become an apprentice, tell me, do you know what you want to do when you grow up?" The crowds gasped as if all of them were a single entity, a single creature in unison with nature that became silent.

"I want to change the world, I want to be a hero!" The young felya went up and stood as if he had just defeated a dangerous beast and the crowd broke into applause breaking the illusion that they were gone, but the young one just smiled. After yet even more puffs on his pipe, a face that almost shined with joy could be seen behind the gray mix of beard, smoke and pipe, the man raised his hand again. "Well Ki'yin, I do think that in the future I will tell stories about you and your deeds, and that I'm looking forward to. But because your stories are in the future and I have not learned them yet, so I guess you're here tonight to hear a story, tell me what's the story you want to hear? "The young felya sat back down on the and thought about it carefully, he bit on the inside of the lower lip and spun a strand of his hair between two fingers. The mass of godchilds had now started to sit down across the meadow, some had picked up food and drink and lit pipes of their own, but everyone's attention was on the felya that would determine the evening's tale.

Eventually they the felya looked into Storytells large yellow eyes, and he could see himself in those big reflecting bulbs and he could not do anything but look into his own blue eyes that reflected back at him. "I want to hear the story of Noordhland." From the crowd a murmur spread through the meadow like the roots growing out of a tree. Even Storyteller looked at the felya with a surprised look. "I have no story that is about the whole Noordhland, such a story would be too large to be able to tell, another story perhaps?" But the young felya shook his head. "No, I want to hear the story of Noordhland. The time before Felyan supremacy, before the empire. "The young felya looked straight into the eyes of the old man a defiant demeanor. Some godchilds on the meadow began to tighten up in worry, everyone was here to hear a story, but if Storyteller was annoyed there would be no tale tonight.

But Storyteller just laughed and smiled. Then suddenly his yellow eyes grew in size until they were as big as two fists, Storytellers beard disappeared quickly as it seemed to recede into his skin and suddenly he had changed the shape of the head to the aspect of a great gray owl. The titanmancer put down his pipe on the stone and stood up to look down on those hundred godchilds gathered here to listen. When the transformation was well accomplished, the entire figure of an old man gone, the red-white garb had become one with the body and turned into a plumage, the large head, now that of a bird of prey, let out a scream from the yellow sharp beak while the titanmancer struck out with his garbed hands to the sides, and suddenly there was a staff in his hand, which had appeared as from nowhere. He struck the tip of the rod on the stone and silence fell over the meadow. Those huge eyes looking down at felyan front of him that sat still, like prisoner fettered to the stone, the young felya had never seen a titanmancer up close and one as might as Storyteller could be a frightening sight the behold.

"Well, Ki'yin, the son of Katsani, lord of the storm." The voice that now echoed across the meadow was tall, dark, and instead of filled out joy and kindness, it was reinforced with a profound authority. "I see your future and I see that you will create many tales of your time. So let me fill your heart with the strength you need. Let me tell you, the tale of Noordhland." Storyteller raised his staff high above his head and in an instant it turned to thousands of small balls of fire in all the colors imaginable. The spheres quickly spread around the meadow, shining their light everywhere, there was a kind warmth coming from them as they took their place in the air, on the ground, and their light outshone the stars of heaven, and the two moons.

The whole meadow was sealed within their own world and when Storyteller finally sat down again, the world took a life of its own. The felya next to him, as well as the other godchilds in the meadow were all like in a trance, beholding the scene developing in front of them. With each of Storyteller's words, movements and thoughts, the meadow filled with images from the past, images of godchilds from other places and images of another starry sky. Emotions was painted with colors and thoughts could be felt in the air. Storytellers words wove their own reality that could be perceived with the senses that you hardly knew that you had. It was the first time in many centuries that Storyteller would invoke the memory of the ancient time, a time hidden by darkness, magic and blood. A time whose memories should only be in fairy tales. This would be the Storytellers last tale in this life and he would be sure to weave reality, like he has done for many hundreds of years before. This was the first time that the world would hear the tale of Noordhland and the last time Storyteller would live in this era.