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Describe where you grew up
Jul. 20th, 2005 12:37 amIt was an island, far in the North, whose name has long since been lost in the mists of time. Some say it was the Otherworld. Others that it became the Otherworld. Others that there is not, nor never was such an island. Some call it Atlantis and say we left for Ireland when it was destroyed. Geographers will tell you if it ever existed, it does not do so now.
They are right.
I was a man grown when we came to the Isle of Destiny. And for all that we call it home, for all the ties we have to the place, is not where I was born. It's not where I grew to manhood alongside my siblings. It is not where I married. Where my first children were born.
No that was an island now lost. The Nemed were our ancestors. They came to claim the Isle of Destiny, but were driven out by the Fir Bolg. Only 30 survived. They went to the island in the North and there they studied. They learned. They mastered the magics of the world. They married the gods. New gods were born. My people were born. I was born.
I grew up in the city of Murias. My father, Dagda, had his great cauldron there, which could feed nations and never empty. The cities shone, as we shone. Clean and bright. Magical craft was taught everywhere and the air sang with it. Music and laughter and dancing. I remember chasing Brigid through the streets, people darting out of our way as we climbed the hill to our Father's palace. Gardens inside walls, with fountains putting forth waters so sweet you could drink and know no thirst for days. There were pranks and toys, and fights, and boys chasing girls and girls chasing boys as there are among all children. But we knew no illness. No true strife. We fought in play, and we played in fights.
I married the princess of Falias, uniting the cities further under Dagda's rule. She was beautiful, but vicious. Our first son was born there. Our first daughter. And then the end came in a wave of natural disaster, some say the anger of rival gods. The waves crashed over the cities' walls, threatening us all. So, we slid the cities into the mists. We fashioned chariots out of clouds and we returned on a tide of magic to rule the Isle of Destiny.
Eire. Erin's Isle. Ireland.
They are right.
I was a man grown when we came to the Isle of Destiny. And for all that we call it home, for all the ties we have to the place, is not where I was born. It's not where I grew to manhood alongside my siblings. It is not where I married. Where my first children were born.
No that was an island now lost. The Nemed were our ancestors. They came to claim the Isle of Destiny, but were driven out by the Fir Bolg. Only 30 survived. They went to the island in the North and there they studied. They learned. They mastered the magics of the world. They married the gods. New gods were born. My people were born. I was born.
I grew up in the city of Murias. My father, Dagda, had his great cauldron there, which could feed nations and never empty. The cities shone, as we shone. Clean and bright. Magical craft was taught everywhere and the air sang with it. Music and laughter and dancing. I remember chasing Brigid through the streets, people darting out of our way as we climbed the hill to our Father's palace. Gardens inside walls, with fountains putting forth waters so sweet you could drink and know no thirst for days. There were pranks and toys, and fights, and boys chasing girls and girls chasing boys as there are among all children. But we knew no illness. No true strife. We fought in play, and we played in fights.
I married the princess of Falias, uniting the cities further under Dagda's rule. She was beautiful, but vicious. Our first son was born there. Our first daughter. And then the end came in a wave of natural disaster, some say the anger of rival gods. The waves crashed over the cities' walls, threatening us all. So, we slid the cities into the mists. We fashioned chariots out of clouds and we returned on a tide of magic to rule the Isle of Destiny.
Eire. Erin's Isle. Ireland.
