Litheris feels slightly unreal as if it is a description in a poorly written story.  There are few buildings but those that do exist seem to be inside large towns of which only a very few buildings seem real.  The roads of the land are long and winding and seem to have a peculiar fascination for travellers who cannot wait to see what is round the next corner.

The vakarn are a people of changes and perception.  They appear how people expect to see them and do not normally appear the same to different people.  A hostel keeper may appear to one traveller as a crude country rogue intent on stealing from him and to another as a laughing genial host.  As a result of this the culture has split into two distinct parts.  The travellers are those who walk out to seek stories and the cast are those who stay at home and try to remain within their groups to gain some semblance of control over their own appearence.  Linking these two are the keepers, a mix of tavern and shop keepers who grow rich off catering to both groups.

The shadows in one corner of the realm shudder slightly before seeming to begin to coalesce.  Voices scream, dogs howl and the world dissolve for one insane moment into a cacophony of noise.  As quickly as it starts it disappears to leave only a single area of concentrated shadow.

The shadow seems hesistant and unsure, small tendrils flicker out to lick at the world in a spasmodic unfocused fashion.  Then a single clear voice speaks in a tongue that burns the ears.  As it speaks the shadow takes shape, it's body seeming to solidify and morph into the form of a long sweeping hooded robe.  As the voice fades away its last word echoes around the clearing.

"Raelis".

The shadow looks up at the word, a focus coming into its movements at hearing it.

"So begins the flow once more, so remakes the shattered path."

The words bounce, and are tamed.

Creation stands before Raelis. Winds howl at his back, speaking in their blackest tongue. The ground beneath communicates it's loyalty to his existence.

"He.. he has returned!" screams the man prostrating himself before Raelis. He stumbles back, giving Raelis a look of unabashed horror.

The man's words echo strangely through Raelis's conciousness.  The world seems to swim slightly in concept as he tries to focus on it and he finds more concepts materialising behind his eyes as he looks at the man.

"Returned?  Come back from some location he has gone to?  I do not understand.  I have not been anywhere have I?"

He turns on the spot, his hood sweeping the surroundings before turning back to the man.

"The emotion you display is hardly positive so I would assume I am antipathetic to you and yours.  BLIND.  You have words, use them now and tell me of yourself and of me.

"I .. I, it has been so long! So long! My father told me.. his father.. told me of Raelis, Lord of the Word, and of his mighty reign - but that he wouldn't return.. Forgive, forgive me.. forgive me, master.. it had been so long.."

The man is shaking as he speaks, as filled with fear as he is.

"I am Raelis.  I do not know this word.  I know all words.  That is the meaning of Raelis but I do not know my own word?  The words shimmer, I see them hovering at the edges of vision.  You live, breathe and think and all of those words I understand.  You locomote, anticipate and demarkate and I understand all those words but this word I do not understand.  I do not know myself and the story is hidden from me.  My memory is weak, words are no longer enough unless I know them all.  Take me to the guardians of the words among you, historians, tale tellers and let them repair my knowledge of the word Raelis."

"We.. we only have a single historian, Lord," he replied softly. "No tale tellers.."

He shifts, becomes a sniveling wreck upon the floor. His face is brim with tears.

Raelis lifts one empty robe sleeve to his head and seems perplexed for a second.

"That is wrong.  The words are bad.  The concepts should not be.  Take me to this historian and let me hear his words."

He swings his robe to face the man.

CURE  HEAL

"Be as you were and be well.  Now take me lest I lose my forbearance."

The man nods, shifts, leads Raelis to a small hut.

Within the hut is an ancient man. His face is weathered, his beard stringy, his teeth are mostly rot but he speaks clearly enough:

"Sacred Master? You have returned?"

"I am here certainly.  Returned?  How did I leave and where did I go?  I have no memory of leaving this place and only a little memory of being here.  The word Raelis lacks meaning, lacks the clarity a word should have as if it were a word from another realm, another place.  What is the word Raelis?  What happened here and why did I leave?"

"Lord.." the Historian looks worried.

"Raelis - you are Raelis. Raelis is the Word of our God. It is a sacred name, your sacred name, to be spoken only by those capable of doing so. Raelis is you."

There was a pause.

"You.. you do not know about the Day of Abandonment? But you are obviously our Lord! How could you forget?"

"I am not sure.  The word that I am was spoken and I was summoned but I do not remember being elsewhere.  I am not sure where I was or that I was.  I have few memories, fewer than there should be.  I remember laughing at rocks, walking the paths of story, seeing monsters but the memories are disjointed, unfocused as if it was not I that did these things.  Where did I go when I abandoned you?"

"I.. we do not know. There was only silence.. only silence ruled supreme. For a very long time, the only words we heard were the ones we spoke."

Both the historian and the worshiper looked depressed at this thought. It was a dark time in their history.

"Then let this be a new start, the beginning of a new story and a new song.  Let the word Naebil rule over this age as Dreaca ruled over the last one.  I have felt a summons to a new council of gods and I answer even now.  Maybe they can explain what occured in this realm and to your people."

Raelis stands for a second indecisive.

"Open a new book of stories and start writing.  Tell of my return and the beginning of a new age."

The historian nodded, filled with vigor. "I will, my Lord, I will."

But then the both of them looked uneasy.

"Words are to be used, not hidden behind teeth.  If you wish to say something let the words flow and be free of them."

"It's just.. I am the only historian left, my lord," said the historian. "The others.. many years ago.. we decided.. they decided.. I am the only one left."

Raelis's hood shudders slightly.

"A story is not judged by the numbers of its tellers but by their power and depth of telling.  Where did the others go and why did they leave?"

"It was decided.. that with more than one tale-teller, more than one historian, the nature of the story would become convoluted as more and more interpretations were made, until it stopped being useful and rigid and became malleable and weak. Conflicts over ideas killed truth faster than anything else. So.. so, people just stopped. There is one historian now, and that is me. There might be more. I'm not sure. Lord. But I think - I think it's just me.."