The Irda: Children Of The Stars

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The Keeper of the history of the Ogre stood alone and unassisted on the platform, though she was as ancient as the stone walls of the castle. She had buried the bones of all her friends, of her children, and still she lived, because of the Gift, which she alone possessed.

She opened her mouth, and it came, the Gift of the gods. A voice as pure and clear, as bright and beautiful, as stars shining in the darkness of a night sky. The ribbon of sound pierced the air. The words wove the History of the World, of the Ogre, firstborn of the gods.

By the hammer of the gods, the universe was forged from chaos.

From the sparks of the anvil, the spirits were scattered,

Cast to glimmer and dance in the heavens.

From the forge of the gods, the world was wrought,

Playground of the gods.

The spirits were singing, their voices like starshine,

Shining like the gods themselves, pieces of the heavens.

The gods looked upon them and found them most wondrous.

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