That was the first time Oromë used his gift but it was certainly not the last. Soon after he returned to Charybdis and told the folk of his gift but they called him mad and he was forced to leave. Not much is known of him after this but there are stories and legends from travelers who have seen a man in the wood who could talk to the trees. Popular tavern stories between drunken friends and nothing more; or were they? Little did most people know was that these stories were based on actual accounts, true they have been morphed over time, minstrels had added verses and drunken men fantastic creatures. But as Dorundain heard the story again he began to wonder why they were so familiar. Perhaps because he had heard them since he was a boy; but today on his return from the trials of manhood there was something different about him; something that yearned to escape from deep within.

As he walked into his home his mother he realized he would now take his place as a man in his family and this thought scared him. Was he even ready to take his father’s place? Would he fail and tarnish his name, or would he be triumphant? Upon seeing the troubled look on his face when he entered his home Dorundain’s mother took him aside, away from the keen eras of the servants. She explained to him that today he would receive his inheritance but he should not expect much from it. “It’s just a chest full of papers and trinkets,” she told him. So Dorundain took the chest to his room; unpacked his things and then opened the chest half expecting his mother had been wrong and that it was full of gold. Much to his dismay his mother was right again; inside was a book, a few letters, a gold ring with his family’s crest and a diary. The book was a gift from his father who had passed during the civil war with the Ciel Fey and whom he was too young to remember. The letters were also from him and they outlined his right to his family’s wealth and a few essential things he should know to be a man. The ring was too small for his fingers, which were callused from his daily archery and fencing practice, so he put it on a chain around his neck. The diary was very old and many of the lines had faded away leaving only bits and pieces of writing which seemed to be accounts of daily events. There was no name on it nor was there any reference inside. On the cover was an embossed crest of a tree and an old form of Mirdain script he could not read.

Inside the diary were many diagrams of plants, flowers, trees and what appeared to be recipes for poultices and healing potions judging from the pictures that accompanied each inscription. There were also many pictures of animals of all shapes and sizes and what appeared to be detailed inscriptions and anatomic details of each, including some creatures which Dorundain had never seen or heard of before. However Dordundain’s inability to understand the ancient script did not deter him from memorizing the diagrams and he was able to decipher a few of the words and phrases thanks to the library in his home.

The more he could decipher and learn the more he wanted to learn, and after many months he was able to piece together the diary using clues from the letters. What he discovered astonished him; he was so excited to tell his mother that he began to run down the hallway to his mother’s chambers, when he found her he told his mother about the pictures and the writings of his forefather. His mother seemed all too calm when she heard the news. Then she smiled and said, “You’ve finally found your true inheritance. I have tried for many years to understand what was in that diary, then I gave up when I married your father but I kept asking myself what was so important about that diary that is was a family treasure. When I found out about who had written the diary it was too late for me to do anything about finding the lost city; I wasn’t so lucky as to find out for myself, your grandmother told me about Oromë but you were very young and your father was still alive so I could only hope that someday you would be able to finish what I had begun. Now I see that day has come and I wish you well on your journey. I only ask that you use the diary generously, for what is written there is very valuable to you but even more so to the world. Do not be selfish and keep the gift to yourself.” Dorundain promised he would not use it solely for his own benefit and then he vowed to his mother that he shall take her to the lost city when he finds it and that she shall be given the largest home with the most beautiful garden, on the highest point so that she may gaze at the whole city in one glance.

Not content with keeping this knowledge to himself and wanting to see the reaction of other mirdain, Dorundain began to share his discovery with friends and to strangers who overheard his conversations and were intrigued. Some however thought him a fool and paid no heed to his useless banter, while others were less skeptical and gave him support for his cause. At the time Dorundain had only the rediscovery of the ancient city in mind; plans for Oromëa and his own kingdom were not in his mind.

As Dorundain gained more and more influence, he began to have strange dreams of past, present, and perhaps the future. Many nights would he awaken in a cold sweat, the vision of a beautiful mirdain queen gazing into his eyes and smiling, still fresh in his mind. In his dreams he saw a sprawling city, vast woodlands and an overwhelming beauty the likes of which he had never thought possible. However, one night the dream was different. He saw not the incredible beauty of the mirdain queen, or the lush green woodlands. In its place he saw fire and doom. A black cloud hung in the air; he could hear screams from the city streets. He witnessed the final hours of the city he once longed to see. Then he felt as if someone was watching him, turning he saw the Hall of Kings, whose once pristine marble floors were now covered in crimson blood, the majestic statues of old kings lay broken on the ground and a dark figure whose gaze pierced his very soul. He awoke screaming, and while he reacquainted himself with his surroundings he could still see the vivid pictures of death as if he were still on the balcony on the Hall of Kings. As the sun rose, a dark red stained the sky, a sign of bloodshed. As he gathered his followers he spoke to them in a very determined voice that he was going to look for the city in his dreams. Many of his followers laughed and walked away. But a few, not as many as he had hoped, believed him and pledged their loyalty to him and their willingness to follow him on his quest.

So it began. For many years they roamed the lands searching through forest and plain, mountain and cave when finally they had exhausted their will to continue forth. They stopped in a small town and contemplated what they would do next. Some wanted to return to their homes, others to continue, all hope of finding the city seemingly lost. That night his dreams returned to him, and the beautiful queen whispered into his ear, “You, who are the last true king, come take back your throne. Let your once great people rise to glory once again.” The she kissed him on the cheek and vanished. When he awoke the next morning he had renewed strength and determination. He saddled his mount and told his remaining followers they could either stay or continue on with him. Having come so far they could not abandon him so easily and they too saddled their mounts and rode along side him.

Not long after they left the small town they came upon a great valley. The woods were eerily quiet and barren, the mounts refused to go forth and so the company continued on foot. After many hours of walking through the desolate woodland they came upon the ruins of a wall. The ruins were at the base of a mountain with steep cliffs forming walls on its sides. They looked upwards and the ruins stretched for a few miles. They looked at each other in wonder and slowly made their way forward. Everywhere they looked they saw death. Bones of children and adults lay on the ground, weapons strewn about the streets and the stench of rotting wood was heavy in the air. As they continued up the mountain they came across a large square surrounded by the ruins of what appeared to be shops and market vendors. The carts of visiting merchants still lay in the square rotting.

On the right was a long road that led to another square. About half the size of the market square this one had three very large buildings surrounding it. Unlike the other buildings in the city these seemed to still have a roof. As they walked into the first building they found long corridors of books, some of which had rotted from moisture, others which were written in ancient languages that died many centuries ago. In the center of the library was a statue of a mirdain with his arms raised towards the sky, a bow and quiver on his back, a hunting horn around his neck, and a small tree in his hands. The inscription was worn off and only a few letters were still legible of the last word O-M-E. The company began searching the library for anything which would help them decipher the inscription. They found nothing.

As they returned to the statue one of them found an inscription on one of the floor tiles. It read “True Knowledge Resides in the Heart of the King.” Looking at the statue they found a small depression on the chest of the man and when they pressed it the statue began to slide backward revealing a long staircase beneath it. As they walked down the stairs the smell of earth and wood filled their lungs and they reached a small room with tapestries depicting mirdain speaking to the trees and of lush woodlands. There was a bookcase along one of the walls. Many of those books were written in an ancient dialect. Their leader began to pick up and read the volumes hoping he could find some clue as to who these people were. After several hours of searching through the books he came across several pictures which interested him the most. One was of a plant with a complex set of instruction beside it, apparently growing instructions. Another he found more interesting. It was of a young mirdain much like the statue on the floor above. Below his picture was a name; OROMË. There was a caption beneath the name that read, “Oromë, devoted disciple of Myrthai and friend of the woods. Founder of the city Oromëa whose people are entrusted with his wisdom. All those who follow in his footsteps shall learn the secrets of life.” He was so excited to have discovered something about these people that he dropped the book and as it hit the floor the cover fell off. As he looked around to make sure nobody was looking he grabbed the cover and was about to put it back onto the pages when he saw some writing on the back of the last page. Unable to make out what it said he turned the cover over and found a detailed family tree of sorts. He did not recognize many of the names but the last line had two names which he found very familiar. He put the book and its cover in his pack then the company returned to the first floor and moved on to the next building.

A very large building overlooking the market square, it had two stone warriors guarding over its entrance. As they entered their leader felt an air of familiarity, as if he had been there before. Moving down the hall they came across two very large stone doors, and as they pushed them open they revealed the Hall of Kings. Their leader immediately drew his sword and looked for the dark figure. The other members of the company stared at him and finally entered the room after a few brief moments of awkwardness. Their leader sheathed his sword and walked towards the balcony. So changed was the land he recognized this place only by the mountains who withstood the test of time. He began to cry, his dreams had been true and he felt helpless. All that remained of his majestic city was a pile of rocks and bones.

That night they made camp in the library and they continued to look through the volumes in the room underneath the statue. As their leader was looking over the cover he finally remembered where he had seen the names on the last row of the family tree. He pulled out a piece of parchment which had his family tree on it. Parts of it were missing but one name was the same. He was skeptical at first and did not believe he could be a descendant of such a royal lineage. Then he remembered the dream he had the night before and the words the queen had spoken to him, yet he could still not convince himself. He spoke to the rest of his company and told them his dilemma. They cheered and made jokes about ‘undiscovered royalty’ but they all believed in him regardless. The only person he still had to convince was himself. He did not want such a responsibility, yet he realized if he did accept the fact he was a king he still had no kingdom to rule and thus it would be pointless to call himself a king.

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