Sunny weather belied the mood in Charybdis as the Elflords reunited to discuss the impending split of the Mirdain people and the possibility of civil war. A young boy sat in a balcony overlooking the noisy council chamber, while his father, below, delivered an impassioned speech advocating the preservation of the republic. Although within earshot of what was to be the crucial decision of his age, all of the boy’s attention fell upon a lone caterpillar as it crawled along the stem of an orange lily overhead. An inescapable curiosity drew his senses toward all living things. The stories his grandfather told him of times past when Mirdain would hold conversation with every creature of the forest captured his imagination. Yet, there was something more – there was within him an unquenchable desire to understand the very substance of life itself: to make things grow, to shape and form living things around him and to realize their magnificent potential.

As the boy grew older, this yearning grew stronger. He would spend hours of each day tracking and following all manner of creatures, whether from the shadows amidst the undergrowth below or from the boughs of oaks above. This was much to the frustration of his parents, who had planned for their son a seat in the embattled parliament. The boy took little interest in such affairs of state; he held his own court beneath the leafy canopy of Mirendil, attended by squirrel and nuthatch, enthroned upon the waving branches of a sycamore.

When the boy came of age, family tradition dictated that he be given his orthorgweth – a trial of his resourcefulness, and the gateway to Mirdain manhood. So it was that his parents presented him a single dagger and sent him off into the woods alone. Having spent so much of his childhood alone in the forest, he first turned his attention to finding food and water. Before long, his sharp ears caught the sound of rippling water in the distance, which he followed to find a small brook. As he bent down to drink, he noticed none of the animals were drinking from the stream. Thinking this was odd, he began searching upstream to find some clue as to why the water was spoiled. He soon discovered a deer that had drowned and was stuck on the rocks, rotting in the water.

Continuing upstream, he found an appropriate space and made his camp before setting out in search of food. After beginning his search anew, he became disoriented. Night drew on, and a thick fog engulfed him. Though he had spent so much of his childhood beneath these very trees, their sight became less and less familiar. Before long, he could not see even beyond his hands and feet. Then, suddenly, his nose detected a foul, rancid smell, carried on a breeze from the north. He knew this smell, he had encountered it once before – Orks were near, and he was vulnerable. Following his instinct, he groped about until he found a large oak tree and quickly climbed onto a branch, high above. There he lay, quietly waiting for the danger to pass him by. He waited for hours as the darkness wore on; he was hungry and thirsty, but also very tired. Silently fashioning a rope from green branches, he tied himself to the tree and he slept into the next morning.

He awoke to the smell of smoke, wafting through the forest. The fog had lifted, and his keen eyes soon traced the wisps of smoke to their source, far in the distance – a small band of Orks were gathered around a fire, apparently eating. Armed only with a dagger he was little match for them. Considering his chances, he alighted from his perch, landing with a nearly imperceptible thud. The fog having passed, he gained his bearings without difficulty, and quickly made his way back downstream toward the deer carcass he had left the day before.

When he arrived at the site, he was curious to find that the deer was no longer in the stream but grazing on the long grass that grew by its banks. Puzzled, he mused to himself that his hunger might finally be getting the best of him. He followed the stream until he came to a small waterfall. Ascertaining that the water was safe enough, he drank his fill. Later that day he fashioned a trap for small game and tried to catch a fish which were swimming in the rushing waters but he was unable to catch anything to eat. Not knowing where to turn he asked the gods for their help, he prayed to Myrthai and Lorathai and when he was satisfied they had heard his call he gathered some leaves and lay upon them to rest.

Shortly after he was awoken by a bellowing call nearby and he pulled out his dagger and crept towards the sound. It was not unusual for male deer to call for their mates in the evening but this sound was much more ominous. He crept into a small clearing where he found one of the most magnificent sights he had ever seen. A huge white stage with magnificently ornamented antlers and about thrice his own size stood before him, its massive frame completely engulfing the young elf in its shadow.

“Welcome to my home, Oromë,” said the stag in a deep, soothing voice.

“Your call has been answered, and I am your prize. First, however, there is one thing I must teach you, and which you must pass on to all. There is an eternal balance among all creatures that dwell in the forest, and that balance must be kept. I offer you my flesh but you in turn must offer something to me.”

“But what can I offer you? I am grateful for your sacrifice but I do not have anything of value to you.”

“Oromë, the woods have no need for possessions; we are not like the other races that roam this world. We take life only to give it back. By giving you my flesh you are able to eat, this is my gift to you, but you too must give something of yourself in return.”

Very puzzled Oromë looked at the stag and did not know how to answer. Hating the thought of killing such a magnificent animal, he said, “I have nothing to give in return, I cannot accept your gift.”

To this the stag replied, “Yes, you do. Offer your own life in service to the protection this forest, and my sacrifice shall not be in vain. Your answer proves you are a true member of the wood. We do not kill for greed, only hunger and protection. Now I shall take you to a place where none of your kind has ever been, there you shall become a true member of the wood and you will learn to create life itself.”

The stag then led Oromë to a circle of trees deep within the woods, inside the circle the sun streamed through, and the grass was green and there were many flowers and small creatures scurrying about. In the center was a large rock with an inscription that was unlike any language he had ever seen. Around the base of the rock was an aromatic and most extraordinary purple flower which filled the clearing with a sweet and soothing perfume.

“Upon this rock is inscribed the law of the land; Life is taken and life will be returned. For every tree or flower that dies a new one takes its place keeping the balance and ensuring the survival of the wood. The gods have asked me to bestow upon you the ability to create and understand life so that you may maintain the balance as your people grow further into our lands. But you must also look outside your people for Mirendil is only a part of a world where progress is trampling life.”

When the stag finished speaking it raised its head and let out a loud bellow and the air and the animals inside the circle seemed to freeze. The sky turned dark and a blue light spilled out of the stag. Like the fingers of a lover the light caressed Oromë and wrapped around him until he was covered in a veil of light. Now the stag blew softly upon him and the blue light turned ever brighter and it swirled and danced around him as if he were caught in a whirlwind. The ritual was complete when the stag leapt upon the rock in the center of the clearing and let out a low and trembling bellow which shook the earth. A blinding white light erupted from the rock and then vanished taking the stag with it, soon after the light vanished from Oromë as well and he fell to the ground where he lay for two days. When he awoke the sun was on his face and the birds were singing but there was no sign of the stag and the inscription on the rock had faded. “A dream,” he said aloud, “nothing but a dream.” But when he stood he saw the purple flower that was near the rock and it was wilted. He bent down to touch it and could feel it was dying. Somehow he could feel what it needed so he poured some water near its roots and straightened the flower and as he was straightening the stem it grew and returned to the way it was before.

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