Once, there was a boy. A boy so enchanted they say the ground sparkled in anticipation of his feet and flowers grew from his footprints.
He came from the forest. They say he ‘emerged from a storm of blossom and undergrowth; His skin was as soft as a new petal and the colour of bark and When he spoke it was with the voice of the breeze as it settled on leaves’ and the world wondered at him as he soared above their heads in feats of magic and sorcery
As the boy wandered throughout the valleys, the woods and mountains he would come across villages only too happy to welcome him. When they asked his name, he spoke with a beaming smile: ‘Eden’. In the eyes of the world, this boy was magic itself. The old books that dwindled every year, speaking of witchcraft and warlocks were left to rot. Hordes of people turned their heads to him as he showed them a new way. Magic without death, blood, toenails, rotten flesh and darkness.
His magic was new and bright. It mended broken buildings and created elixirs that soothed even the pain of aging.
As he grew, many sought to do him harm; they wanted to trap him and learn his ways. Even the imps had heard of him and where Eden went, so did the overhanging threat of an attack. However, as abruptly as he appeared, he could disappear. Crowds would scream as he left only thin air in his wake, ripe with the tang of magic. He was untraceable.
Valleys over, unrest stirred within the imp settlements. Their raids stretched further and further out as they sought to conquer. With each one they took more, demanded more. Humans, fauns, animals and any living thing that was non imp were slaughtered.
Rumours became heavy in the air, the dark nights stirred with impending fear. They had no leader, no monarchy, and no saviour. Eden, now a young man, was the closest thing they had.
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