After the war of rage and blood between Bakloran, Dome'ahae, the Dark Rager, and Therassor, Nim'megil, the White Sword; the Father of the Woods was called upon by Lysora, Lissentoria, the Tears of Wind, the Mother. For so very many centuries and days, she held within her the spirit of the world. With the weight of love and pain, she found she could no longer carry its burden. But once she spied the spirited love and need that awoke and moved the one born of loam and earth, she knew she had found the world giver, the all-father and protector, for the world of Audalis.

Beseeching him with her eyes of sapphire and tears of diamonds, she approached the Father. With palms outward in supplication of peace, Lysora called to the one of us that carried the words and wishes of Owl and Sparrow, of Tree and Sky. He came to her, open of heart and mind. Long was his hair carried like the down of feathers on soft breezes.

Fleet of foot he ran as the new-born fawn at play. Stirring and deep was his soul as the swirling pools of Amban Aluir. He spoke with breath perfumed of magnolias and spice. She breathed his words, felt more than spoke, and asked of him a sacred favor and melancholy duty.

Within her eyes she carried a depth of heartache and love that only the Mother could carry. Sensing her terrible need and a obligation that stifled the very air from her, he hungrily grasped her close and pulled the spirit of us all from her body, through his lips, and into his heart. Her emblazoned plea for passing the spirit of the world filled her for a moment and was gone.

The pain and hardship of such a fate lifted and moved like the bird from one branch to another. And with this movement came a terrible understanding, a melancholy that lashed like a demon from within. Startling the mother with his pain, the Father cried and ran to the bosom of his home. But none could ever be as it was.

This was the weight only ages past he could understand. And so the ages past, and the way of gods and man changed as the many seasons the Father created in his growing wisdom. Until, one day, the weight of the world within his breast grew as stifling as it had to the Mother.

He no longer felt as sprightly as the faun, but as old and docile as the ancient oak. He turned eyes skyward, raining his melancholy upon the lands. Soon even Tyrannis, Luss'luhtarwen, the Whispering Enchantress, was drowned from her hell so dry and dark. Uncoiling from her home, she sought out the source of storms and hissed her questions within the Father's ear.

Long he railed of his terrible pain and need of comfort. And comfort she gave, winding herself around the Father. Enrapt within the scaled arms of the Enchantress, the Father choked on his breath, feeling the seed of the world, the tree, the faun, the mother and the father push itself from the home of his heart to his wailing mouth. Hungry to devour the seed of all things, to own the world, and hold dominion over heaven and hell, she kissed him, deeply seeking the seed with her forked tongue.

The ground rumbled, mountains shook, and waters thrashed as the war raged between the two. Oceans of tears threatened to drown the newly made rents in the earth. All of creation teetered on the edge of the Enchantress' desire and the Father's anger.

Realizing the hardship of the world, the Father found his senses again. No longer the ancient oak, he became the torrential skies and flashing lightening. And in one final move, he bit off Tyrannis' tongue. The serpent screamed her pain and slithered back to her home.

Lysora returned, the Mother with arms wide. She offered to take from him the seed of the earth and the pain of the Enchantress' tongue. But the Father knew that none but man and beasts could truly understand and hold the mystic link of life. Only the earth could be itself.

And so, he ran, leaving them all. He leapt and stumbled until he came upon a rent in the earth. Gazing into the limitless depths, he reached forth within himself and spat the foul tongue of the Enchantress into the earth. Fire and brimstone seared his eyes and the earth filled with the inferno of her desire the anger of his heart.

But the Father knew that she would return, they all would, seeking the blessed and cursed seed of earth, air, water, fire, and spirit. With the howl of a wildcat, he reached forth within himself again and pulled forth the seed of us all. Using the stone of earth, he made a hole and cast the seed within.

A great and holy tree grew, the Mallorn, the golden tree. And from it, the small seeds of the earth. The Father, Adaron, Kith-jora, in his wisdom has entrusted each of us with these seeds. Alone, they are strong and true as are we. They carry the blessing and prayers of the Father. But only together, in the End Times, will they ever become whole, become the One, and rejoin into the Ered'le'Coia, the Seed of Life.