Prologue: A new generation!
After the evil Vegnagun had been defeated and the unsent spirit's had gone there way, absolved by the trio, a new calm had fallen over Spira. New generations were growing and family tree's were sprouting more and more branches as life flourished. Evil had been vanquished and good could be once again restored. But, remember that wherever there is light there is also darkness-the two walk hand in hand through every day, as life and death do. With every new generation there is a new evil. Lesser, stronger? We do not know. We only tell the stories of those who fought, for those who care to listen..
We could tell you a story...
A thousand voices we are. Etching memories into stories, weaving moments into pictures, impriting words into song and moulding speech into poems. We are the story tellers. As such we tell of all inhabitants of Spira, from the small Moogle to the large Shoopuff. They all reside within our world, they all have a story to tell. They are all equals once on the scales, for they weigh the same. Creature, Human, Ronso and Guado. All have a purpose.
A thousand stories ago...
Once there was an almighty story teller, they recorded the birth's and death's of all the inhabitants upon Spira, they had infinite wisdom, and infinite patience. Every second they would spend writing down the dates and times of each occurance on Spira. Scribes would rush to put the scrolls that were wrote upon into sealed boxes, an alchove began. Marked with dates the alchove grew. It took up the skies until it blotted the light from the world. As the pile grew they found new ways to harbour the stories, technology crept in.
A sphere story...
Holding each story was easier than writing it out onto scripts of parchment. Emotions and feelings could be relayed in these *spheres* now, the story teller was now a librarian. Only taking images from the world, like peering at pictures in a photograph. But not all pictures are included in the master sphere, depicting your life story. And some pictures should have not been cast aside like they were now. Someone had gotten careless in the new age of sphere's. And some things, were just not meant to be.
A lost story is a sad one...
Archives were now smaller and more compact. Pictures and texts that were thought not to be needed were discarded like refuse. Someone made a mistake, someone disgarded a story. Forgotten by the world and all of it's inhabitants, it grew. Grew in strength- grew in strength of hatred for all else than it's own existance, for now it was forfeit. It's only aim in life was to be known once again. To be known for something *special.*
The destruction of Spira.
We will tell you a story...
After the evil Vegnagun had been defeated and the unsent spirit's had gone there way, absolved by the trio, a new calm had fallen over Spira. New generations were growing and family tree's were sprouting more and more branches as life flourished. Evil had been vanquished and good could be once again restored. But, remember that wherever there is light there is also darkness-the two walk hand in hand through every day, as life and death do. With every new generation there is a new evil. Lesser, stronger? We do not know. We only tell the stories of those who fought, for those who care to listen..
We could tell you a story...
A thousand voices we are. Etching memories into stories, weaving moments into pictures, impriting words into song and moulding speech into poems. We are the story tellers. As such we tell of all inhabitants of Spira, from the small Moogle to the large Shoopuff. They all reside within our world, they all have a story to tell. They are all equals once on the scales, for they weigh the same. Creature, Human, Ronso and Guado. All have a purpose.
A thousand stories ago...
Once there was an almighty story teller, they recorded the birth's and death's of all the inhabitants upon Spira, they had infinite wisdom, and infinite patience. Every second they would spend writing down the dates and times of each occurance on Spira. Scribes would rush to put the scrolls that were wrote upon into sealed boxes, an alchove began. Marked with dates the alchove grew. It took up the skies until it blotted the light from the world. As the pile grew they found new ways to harbour the stories, technology crept in.
A sphere story...
Holding each story was easier than writing it out onto scripts of parchment. Emotions and feelings could be relayed in these *spheres* now, the story teller was now a librarian. Only taking images from the world, like peering at pictures in a photograph. But not all pictures are included in the master sphere, depicting your life story. And some pictures should have not been cast aside like they were now. Someone had gotten careless in the new age of sphere's. And some things, were just not meant to be.
A lost story is a sad one...
Archives were now smaller and more compact. Pictures and texts that were thought not to be needed were discarded like refuse. Someone made a mistake, someone disgarded a story. Forgotten by the world and all of it's inhabitants, it grew. Grew in strength- grew in strength of hatred for all else than it's own existance, for now it was forfeit. It's only aim in life was to be known once again. To be known for something *special.*
The destruction of Spira.
We will tell you a story...