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Ronam

720 HR

Weary traveler, you have stumbled upon the tomes of Tadnír, son of Ragál, an Eoric of Erlagon.

If you have done this, then I must assume two things. The first, you must have already pored over many volumes, written by men, no doubt, greater than I, and you must now wonder why you should linger upon the work of a forgotten chronicler. The second thing I must assume, since while I lived I orated my histories and hid away all that which I wrote according to the advice of a prophet, is that I am long dead, and you live in the days which Nalák foretold.

If Nalák was indeed a prophet, and his words came true, then those very words will have been lost to you. What Nalák said was this, if good Shurasha will guide my memory:

"The days will come when no man will call himself Eoric. No one will remember the nations of Nimír, their names will be lost. New nations will rise up, with other names, and the men that live in them will call themselves by other names, and they will not know who their forefathers are.   They will not call themselves by the names of their fathers, they will not act in accordance with the actions of their fathers. Not a memory of the old will be left behind, the new alone will occupy their minds. No more will they fight for gods, for honor, for glory, for king, for family. Nay, they will not fight as men used to, but they will raise up hard things with their hands to do their fighting for them, even as the sorcerers do!   The sons of kings and heroes live on, but they know it not, they call themselves by other names. The sons of sorcerers live on, they know it not, they call themselves by other names. The dragons are dead, the sons of sorcerers give them a new name! The gods live on, but man has sworn off his love for them."

This, then, traveler, is why I must implore you not to put away my tomes, though they seem perhaps so vast. For if Nalák speaks truth, and this is the way the world shall be, then I pity those that live in those days, for how hard they must be for those of the old spirit, whose heart yearns still for the forgotten things of old! If by chance you are one of those who bear this old and noble temper, I have written the words of these chronicles to comfort you, and to teach you what no one else can.

Come, my friend, and lift the veil!

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