on a hill, in a far-off land lives an old man who goes by Askr. he lives the life of a nomad, with neither home nor brother. one day, he falls upon a tree, one that basks in a dim white light, one that gives power to the powerless, one that creates life in the lifeless.
the man sits down next to the tree, gazing upon its beauty. he notices a splinter, shattering the pattern. he lifts up his hand, covered in rags and cloths.
he breaks off the fragment, easing his wits.
oh, great asker, what have you done? you have broken reality, you have shattered time. what lies for you is a great future, one of legend, and a great 'past'.