The Coin and the Dagger
We are the eldest time beings. Our roots run deep, into a past unremembered, even by us. Memory is like the moonlight, spilling out onto the forest floor, silvering the water sliding over the brookstones, but leaving everywhere shadows in the places it cannot reach.
We remember our wounds because they are still sore, and the deepest cut was made by Nebelungen. Nebelungen goes by many names, but its call is heard by all sentient things. It promises whatever the heart desires, and its lure is strong. With each mind it steals, the worldspirit grows weaker. And we forget.