In one Age, called the Fourth Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Land of the Crystal Throne. It sped across the great Aryth Ocean to the Tai’Seanchan coast. It continued over the Mountains of Mist, picking up the scent of Two Rivers fine tabac and singing along to a tune made by a Tinker’s tea kettle. It swirled around the vast prairie known as the Caralain Grass, with it’s Black Tower fortress, and the island city of Tar Valon, home of the fabled Ogier-made White Tower...The wind swept through the valleys, skimming along the lake that once was Shadar Logoth, lifting the raven in flight. It howled through the Blight past the snorts and bellows of Trollocs, carrying on it the stench of their cookpots and rot as it whipped by a Myrddraal without creating so much as a ripple in its dark cloak. If you listen closely to the wind you can hear the sound of “friends” whispering in the dark as it whistles by you. The shadows beckon you to their warm embrace; where will the wind take you? For you must know, the wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was A beginning.
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updated Nov 6, 2019 1:12:47 GMT
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please welcome Peanut Butter to the fold