Prologue
There are none who do not grow up with the tales of the great warrior and hero, Grendolen. Like mother's milk, it nourishes the young, giving them hope in an otherwise dismal time. And with the innocence of youth, in minds untainted by years of oppression and defeat, her tales really do foster the belief in a better future. Her strength and courage bolster the fragile confidence of the young. She lights the candles, giving them a few brief moments of warmth, before, all to soon, the flickering light is extinguished by reality. But for a very few, Grendolen's tales endure, allowing those individuals to carry with them, the strength to face each day in a dying world. These are the dreamers, the optimists, and the ones that truly don't belong. For they lack the defeated air of those who've been trod upon their whole lives. These individuals do not accept the way things are. They fight against the lives they've been given, always at war within themselves and with those who've given in to their despair. These believers call themselves Grendolen's children, for in a way, they have been created by her undying legacy. It is, of course, an empty name, as Grendolen is nothing more than a child's tale, as everyone knows. Nothing more than a bedtime story.
Grendolen's origin is never specified. There are none who could verify her family line, her town of origin or her clan. She was one of the nameless wanderers, coming and going with few ever really meeting her. Yet, despite her wraithlike trespass, like a whisper on the wind, tales of the silver haired warrior who moved with speed, grace and strength unparalleled reached the ears of anyone who would listen. Tales of a mind to which there has never been a rival, capable of trickery and turns of phrase that could bend others towards her with skill akin to true magic. Minds were an open book to her, no thought or feeling was a secret. No object dared to stands in her way, for even obstacles many times her size would move themselves to her whim.
It's undeniable that her powers were such that she could have easily bent the will of all mankind. Yet, never are there any tales of Grendolen seeking dominion. She sought union, and the improvement of the lives of others. It's speculated that most of her deeds went unnoticed, or at least, unattributed: Dried wells that mysteriously yielded water again, crumbling homes once again made livable, abundance of food after a drought. Though no connections could be linked to Grendolen, village children would whisper to each other, and ever-eager eyes watched for some sign of that silver hair.
However, while much of Grendolen's life and accomplishments go unverified, ever confined to gossip and rumor, some of her greatest acts are forever recalled, inspiring hope and excitement in the minds of children. The first and perhaps, greatest of her tales, concerns the salvation of an entire village. The name of the village has long since been lost, but the story goes that Grendolen was woken in the night, by a most horrifying dream. In this dream she saw a town perish in fire and flying rock, the very earth splitting open to devour the burning remains.
From her journeys Grendolen was familiar with most settlements on this land. But the town was many days walk, through a most barren and unforgiving wasteland. Grendolen knew there was not much time for the town. Her feet flew like the wings of birds across the desolate land, never stopping, never tiring. She ran for the rest of the night, and the spent the daylight hours as well. In that time, she rarely stopped, ate nothing and drank but a little. She did not rest, nor sleep, but neither did she loose any of her fleetnesses. It was not yet nearing night when she reached the village, but the sky was ominously dark with black clouds. The ground beneath her feet vibrated as if a sleeping beast lurked just beneath the surface. Grendolen never uttered a word, but cast her mind to touch every being in the town, issuing them the warning, guiding them out of the town and gathering them together. Still she ran, now from dwelling to dwelling, helping the old, the weak, the sick, carrying some people who weight even more than herself with ease, their weight never slowing her down.
Not one was left behind. By they time streaks of light began burning their way across the sky to touch down in explosions of fire and rock, everyone was following Grendolen, frightened, but trusting in her to lead them to safety. Though the ground shook with every collision and pulled at it's seams, Grendolen's composure seemed to keep everyone at relative ease. They followed her even into the dark unknown, a haven made of rock and earth, assumed to lead to the very heart of the world. While uncertain of this dark cave, it seemed to be the only alternative to the sky that rained fire upon them. According to legend, the flaming rocks continued to fall for many days, as if the sky was tantruming from being deprived it's right to stone the villagers to death. In the end, there was nothing left of the town, no crops nor plant life, nor livestock. But everyone had survived. The villagers, fearful of a repeat attack, decided to stay in the cave, protected from the world's vengeance. Grendolen stayed just long enough to help them establish themselves in their town of perpetual night. She showed them where to find water, how to live off the plants that grew in the depths of darkness. Her final act before she left was to name the town, Gamla.
Any further involvement of Grendolen in the town of Gamla was never verified.
That this story survived to be retold is surprising, given the isolation of the people of Gamla. To date, neither records, nor ruins of Gamla have been found. The town is as ephemeral as it's creator, lacing in any solid proof, and yet, never fading away into forgotten myths and legends. But know you this, child. I believe in Gamla, just as I believe in Grendolen. Hold on to these in your heart, young ones, for they will keep you warm. Hold on to Grendolen and her bravery, for someday, you too might be a hero like her.