-PROLOGUE-

Yll.

Yggdrasil. The mythical tree. Most know it as the Tree of Life, though it goes by other names, too. A tree of such immense proportions that it spans the planet. A single, living entity which, most scholars would agree, contains the vast majority of all life within its branches. Our own world is closely connected to it, to the land called Yll, which contains the Tree.

Yll itself is a land of magic, of creation. Containing the Tree makes it impossible for it to be otherwise, and magic flows through the air like many drops of sunset, suffusing Yll in it’s golden glow.

Yll, and the Tree it contains, are known as the place where all things begin - and where they end, too.

Though we may not see it, Yll is around us even now, it always will be around us and it always has been.

It’s a place men have always known of, yet no one has ever truly seen it. No one has ever been there.

Children are born and grow older, never having been to Yll, and yet, strangely enough, some can describe brief glimpses of its contents.

Men who have never left their tidy little villages see it, knowingly or not, in their dreams.

Even those who, never having heard the name Yll, or set foot in a church of Yggis, can describe, in whatever language they speak, what lies within.

Men see Yll, or so it’s been said, when they die.

Yll is connected to our world, Yggisland, so closely intertwined with ours it permeates all things.

It can be found in the wind and water, in the many hidden places that pepper our world. Some say it can be found in the trees, or within the cries of a newborn child, that it can even be found in the decisions we make, and those we do not.

It’s touch influences our every waking moment.

Yet Yll can’t be seen, nor felt, and it’s never been entered.

Then, there is the Great Tree, Yggdrasil. This tree is the beginning and end of all life, the creator and the taker, the great decider. All life is said to be connected to this tree, and from the glimpses men have had, one could see its astounding number of branches, its many millions of fruits, its unending number of leaves. Climbing, climbing, it rises without end, and appears to descend even further. Its branches fill the sky and it’s leaves blot out the sun, so numerous are they that there is no place in all Yll where one would not encounter a branch of the tree.

Yet, to truly understand this tree, one must understand its function, and in the eyes of mortals, it is the one true god of life and time. Each and every branch is a series of lives, interconnected and ever changing, seeming to shift with the slightest breeze as the lives they represent change.

Its constantly changing structure can eventually be traced to the beginnings of man.

The lowest branches of the tree mark the beginnings of time and life as we know it, the highest branches mark the future, and lives yet to be lived- or are being lived now, if time is interconnected as some scholars argue.

Each branch is weighed heavily by many fruits, each fruit marking an individual life. These fruits are as varied as we are, different in shape and size and color, but one constant remains the same. All fruit eventually withers and dies, as we do, to fall from the tree and eventually grow again, in the cycle of rebirth that all life must experience. These fruits contain the lives of animals, creatures, humans, even the enemies of the tree, creatures of the blight, and its corruption which festers in the darkest places, where light does not reach the branches of the tree.

Alongside those fruits grow leaves, the many, ever varied leaves of this Great Tree, each emanating a soft, gentle light. A light that seems to suffuse the very air itself. This light, known to educated individuals as enervought, affects some of the fruits it encounters, and through it, humans can gain abilities that defy explanation. This magic is what truly separates man from beast, and is our greatest weapon against the creatures twisted by the blight. Few of the many fruits growing on this tree truly have access to enervought, but those that do often experience a dramatic change in lifestyle and ability, an extended life and ability to manipulate their surroundings being just a few of the so called ‘gifts of the Tree’.

Yet there is also the Blight. The dark God, the twisted one, the corruptor. A being so intent on control of the tree, control of time itself, it corrupts the very air around it, latching onto leaves and fruit alike, He creates His very own, twisted creatures in order to serve His purpose, corrupting the fruits that are men and women. He darkens the soft glow emitted by the leaves in order to form power in His own image, flecks of corruption can be found in vast swathes across many places and times on the tree as a whole. Some places and times are more affected than others, some fruits more corrupt than others.

The Blight is, at its base level, the most despicable evil.

The Blight wishes to control the life generated by the tree, by Yggis, the god of creation, and use it for its own purposes.

Yet one fruit, somewhere in what one might call the center of the tree, if infinity had a middle, glowed brighter than the rest. It’s appearance resembles that of solid gold, and one might say that the human borne of that fruit must be loved greatly by the tree, gifted generously with its power. Destined for great, or perhaps terrible things. This fruit, along with it’s story, follows many twisted branches, back to the center of the tree, perhaps to the center of life. This fruit, this golden child, champion of the Tree, is the center itself of the story to follow.

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"You'll come then? The pay is good, well worth the time spent away from your wife." Davus Shellford leaned back in his padded leather seat as he took a drag from his pipe. Eyes watching James Lyford anxiously, though too experienced to show it. He knew that the man, captain of the town guard and a former soldier, was itching to travel again before the shackles of old age finally caught up to him. He also knew that he was worth any four of the other guards put together, and that Davus needed him if he was to truly be safe on the long, bandit riddled roads. James sat quietly, back straight, considering. The man took a long pull of his pipe and let it go, and Davus was on the edge of offering better terms, profit margins be damned, when James spoke first. As if he knew exactly when Davus would capitulate.

"If I go, I'll be bringing the boy." Davus emulated James by taking a drag from his pipe, using it to cover his thoughts. James’s wife could manage the house in his absence, she would have no problems providing for herself as a school teacher in the city, but the boy was young, still in training. This trip would be a perfect opportunity for James to show him more of the trade he would one day inherit. Davus hid his surprise well, he thought, thumbing the woven seashells he wore about his neck before exhaling and responding with a wry smile "I hope I won't be expected to pay him a wage too?" he said it with a small chuckle, to which James did not respond in kind. Instead he shook his head. "Won't even need to feed him most nights. Boy can provide for himself by now." Crossing his arms and leaning back once more in his padded chair, Davus considered the implications of this. Nine years old and able to feed himself on the road? If I didn't know the boy himself I would think him a liar. Davus flourished his hand, now holding a quill, before nodding and writing down a quick allotment for small provisions and an extra travel cloak, then signed a scrip stating the wages for this trip:

James Lyford

45 drams - to King's Cross 60 drams - upon safe return

Preventable damages to goods due to lax security will cause deductions in pay.

This was triple what he had offered the other guards, and he suspected that James knew it. In fact, he had specially made sure that James would approach just as one of the other hired guards was leaving, proudly clutching his noticeably smaller bag of bronze drams. He also knew that there was no need for the note at the bottom of the scrip, James was never lax. He would not shirk his duties even with his adopted son to mind, but it paid to be careful. It would not do to show the man anything but respect, and for a merchant like Davus, careful was all he had.

James nodded his assent, signed the scrip, then stood and offered his hand to shake. "We'll have our gear and provisions and meet you in the square in four days' time, when do you expect to leave?" Davus smiled inwardly, knowing James would make a point of being there early no matter what time he gave. "As soon as its light enough to hitch the horses." James nodded, turned, and walked with a confident stride across the polished room, taking in his surroundings but appearing not to notice the moderately expensive mudkarn bear rug and polished furniture that Davus kept mainly for its ability to impress common folk. If it all goes smoothly he'll still have been worth the price, and the boy brings the added bonus of keeping Blake out of my hair he thought to himself and smiled, tapping out his pipe and picking up his quill. He had more work to do if he was to pull this off without a hitch, and no problems at the beginning of the trip was an omen for great success at the end.