The room is quiet. Entirely too quiet, in fact. The young man upon the stage has not moved for quite some time. It feels as though you have been sitting there for an eternity, silent and still as the grave.

You feel tired. So very, very tired. Perhaps if you just shut your eyes for five minutes, you could refresh yourself and enjoy the rest of the performance. Whenever that might be.

You can feel your eyes starting to close, and for a moment, you consider resisting. In the end, of course, they are shut and sleep has claimed you.

And then, there is a girl. More of a young woman, in fact. There's something familiar about her, something you can't quite... Ah! Yes. One of your host's assistants, you think. Darklight or Duskbeam. Something like that.

You remember her being quiet. Very quiet, in fact, even when conjuring such wonderful illusions as she had done so very long ago.

At least, it seems so very long ago.

This, then, is why you are surprised when she speaks.

She does not sound as you had expected her to. Not that you had had any expectations on that matter, of course, but she does not sound like them regardless.

No, she sounds... Ethereal. Like she is there, but not. An echo of a voice, once heard often in this room, but that now speaks no more.

And what she says is this.

"We here at the Library of Eldritch Lore would like to apologise for the inconvenience and delay. Our Lord is presently dealing with important matters far from his domain and wishes to inform you, our honoured guest, that the performance will shortly resume and that he begs your indulgence a while longer.

"I have been authorised to reveal to you certain tales of this Realm while you are waiting. Would you like to hear one?"

You don't appear to have anything better to do, and so you nod.

"Very well. I will tell you the Tale of the Beginning."

In the beginning, there was the World, and the Children did not understand it.

And so, they went to their Elders and asked questions of them.

"Why does the Sun come up?"

"Are the Stars just pinholes in the curtain of Night?"

And the Elders, not knowing what to tell the Children, retreated into their hut and took council.

When they emerged, they were smiling and bade the Children come before them, sit and listen well.

And they told them the Story, the First of Many, and the Children did listen, and they began to understand the World.

Time passed, as did the Elders, as did their Elders before them. The Children grew and became Elders themselves. They brought forth the New Children, and when they came before them, asking of the World, they smiled, bade them come sit before them and listen.

And so, the Story was told again.

Time passed. The New Children grew and became the Elders and told the Story to the Children after them, as they would do to the ones after them and they would do for the ones after that.

With every telling, the Story changed, little by little. In time, it became a different Story altogether.

New Stories were told.

Some were inspiring, Stories about great Heroes and Villains, the Eternal Battle between Good and Evil.

Some were terrifying, filled with all manner of Beasts and the Horrors that lurk in the Dark.

Some were told simply for their own sake, and that was enough.

But they all of them came from the First, and contained a piece of it within them.

Time passed, over and over and over and again.

One day, a Boy was born. He grew a little and became one of the Children. But his Elders did not tell him the Story, not the First or the Many that came after.

And so, he found out the Secret Place where they were kept and taught himself to tell them.

And he Loved them, above all other things.

The Boy grew a little more, and he told himself many Stories.

With each new Tale, his Love grew stronger and he learned much about the World.

In time, he told his own Stories and desired to tell them to others, that all might share in his Joy and Delight.

But he was still a Boy and could do nothing as he was.

And so, he began to study that which Men call Magic.

Magic, despite all its apparent Rules and Rituals, is a simple thing.

A Story is told to all the World and, if it is told in just the right way, all the World believes it.

And so the Boy studied and learned more Stories.

And then he learned more, and then he learned more.

The Boy grew, in Power and Height. He became a Young Man, no longer one of the Children.

The time had come.

The Young Man gathered about him three Young Women.

One fond of Illusions and Trickery, Silver-tongue that rarely spoke a word.

One from a Far-Away Land, yet treated as though his own Flesh and Blood.

One who was born Mad, though he Loved her all the same.

And he told them a Story.

A Story of a place that didn't exist, that could not exist and would never exist.

A Story of a place where Imagination was King and Dreams held sway.

A Story of a Great Library, filled with Knowledge both simple and complex, where every Tale ever told would be told again.

And they listened.

And they helped him tell the Story to all the World.

And all the World believed him.

And that was the Tale of the Beginning.