Tales of Tolara
“We ask for forgiveness, o mighty Tol. May your messenger here on earth save us from the damnation of the Gatekeepers.”
-Father Belen, priest of Tol in Clarien
Tol was born from the infinite chaos. Millennia passed in Tol’s making. His hair was of fire, his body of the solid earthen clay, his breath the wind of ages, his blood, the purest water. Tol watched for a long while, for Tol was still young in creation and creation was young in him. He saw from the realm of chaos drifted a space all his own. An empty space of creation. A garden of creation. So, like an old farmer set in his ways he walked the earth. He walked the earth and saw chaos and saw fit to shape it to his design for Tol was a being of creation.
Where he walked seeds of mountains took root, he watered the world with his blood and created torrents of ocean sweeter than wine, he breathed air fresh as a winter breeze into the fledgling world. But still fire raged in his heart and all around Tol, and so, Tol, being wise in all things, tucked the fire away into the heart of the earth. Kept the fire safe so that the fledgling world would have it to use when it was needed. He saw the world around him, bright and beautiful.
But Tol was filled with a sadness deeper than the reaches of Eiltha Lake, wider than Lorowal, and greater than the Emperor himself. The sadness cut to his very bones, and Tol, being wise in all things, saw that the world was a pretty thing but, like a Sela flower in a vase, would wither and die. So Tol took the chaos within himself and forged the first caretakers of the world. The Eru, the primordials. Those that we now whisper as the Fei, the Drugar. The keepers of the world. To them he gave the spark of creation, but to each he only gave half. Only by becoming whole would Tol’s gift be realized. And so the Eru went to care for the land and to create.
But what of Tol himself? Well, Tol at first sought to teach his children all he knew. For Tol knew the shape of all things and their flow in the world. But with each truth he shared to his children, they grew further from paradise and perfection. These few trusted with the secrets of waves would become the Quarto of Sorrow in the long years to come. Seeing his folly and because Tol was wise in all things he desired to withdraw from the world. Yet he knew the world would have need for him as well. For a garden untended grows many weeds. And so Tol tucked himself away into the heart of himself, sealing himself away in a cage of the heart of the earth, the heart of creation. On his way down however, Tol could not close the earth completely around him, could not bear to seal himself away from all he had wrought. And so, he left a small gap. A rift of creation.
From this crack leaked the chaos that had made Tol and it became a place of changing. Those who visited the rift were forever changed. From this rift the Eru became the elf, became the dwarf, the ogre, the gnome, all the creatures of the world. And because of Tol’s wisdom, each of these new peoples had a spark of creation and could further populate their new world.
Not all Eru were drawn to the rift however, and spent eternity tending the garden of creation, Tol’anra. They made the trees and the sweet things to eat, the fruits, the berries, the shade of the Wela tree. And so it was that our world began. Blessed be the Emperor, messenger of Tol.