FORWARD
Castle Mondragon
Hall of Scrolls
My dearest friend, the Reader:
On this, the fourteenth turn in the moon of leaves falling, in the 1001st cycle of post-Cloister, I, Kronus of Tsark, bid you greetings!
Upon my frail but willing shoulders has fallen the mantle of chronicler. I bear the responsibility of the office with pride and dignity, as is fitting. It is my fervent hope that I have fulfilled my duties with the diligence and devotion to the written word that is an inherent trait of my race.
Indeed, it was such skill that prompted the High Lords of the Pentarchy to appoint me First among those who record the Codex of the Empire. Even as a young adult of 154 cycles, I had already achieved fame among the brothers of my Septar. I should add with all humility that I am a rarity among my kind…a Tsarkin with the heart and soul of a poet. Ever have I sought to weave the intangible web of thought into the concrete yet flowing imagery of the written word.
And yet, it was neither my talent for eloquence nor my professional fame that caused me to be chosen to unfold the following tale. It was rather the good luck to meet and befriend my lord Talisman, and the extreme good fortune to survive the amazing chain of events that unfolded after his miraculous appearance. It is he, the Lord of the Flame, who rightly bears responsibility for both authorship and causality.
And so I shall record it.
My friend, there is a philosophy espoused by countless intelligent minds among the far-flung reaches of the Pentarchy. Some attribute it to our own Robert the Piper and others to the great Norn himself. In my humble opinion, the true author has somehow escaped the entrapment of record. Regardless, one needs neither the imagination of a Robert nor the genius of a Norn to fathom its meaning. Detractors refer to it as quaint and oversimplified. As for myself, and indeed the great majority, there is a feeling of rightness about it. I will quote a brief passage from the text.
‘The endless flux of life may be likened to a river—called the Aether. It flows from the wellspring of the Source, permeating all planes, all dimensions. Each droplet of its precious substance is but a moment, which for living creatures seems to be in stasis for the blink of an eye. This moment is then thrust aside by the irresistible force of Creation. This momentum, this ‘Time’, is the binding fiber of the dyad of reality. These droplets are as equal and limitless as the grains of cosmic dust that suffuse the Eld, yet as different as the three moons of Tsark. There are moments as rare as a blue sun, as precious as Kryll. There are some that touch only individual beings, and others so momentous they affect solar systems, galaxies…the known universe.
Such a one was the coming of the Norn.
And what better way to start a tale than that which is both beginning and end?
My friend, those of us who have imbibed the Serum of Longevity can only guess at the natural span of life. My lord Talisman has implied that some of us shall live to enter a new age, and I have learned not to doubt him. Yet what this might mean or how much of this time I shall see is uncertain. Nor is it important. I take my solace in the belief that the record of these moments shall endure.
For all those generations to follow…indeed, for all those friends on distant worlds who may read my words, I leave one final wish…
Enjoy!
Lord Kronus of Tsark
Sentinel of the Scrolls
High Warden of the Great Seal
First Chronicler of the Pentarchy of Solarian