Once upon a time, Olgath, the father of creation, called his four sons to his chamber in the dead of night. He had for a time been laboring under the weight of the world that he created. The peoples of the disparate lands continually fought and squabbled for the bounty of the land, the cornucopia of the sea, and the truth of the universe. Olgath despaired at the corruption of his world. He searched the deep well of his mind and found no answer to his woes, each idea slipping out of his grasp like chaff on the wind. Exasperated and furious at his failure he hoped that one of his four sons would be willing to take the mantle of the universe from his shoulders.
The first knock on his chamber door came from his Eldest son, Faylen. “Come in my son and lend me your voice”, called the old man. Staggering tipsily into the chamber, Faylen, white haired and handsome, soon found his footing and stood at attention. “I am here for you father though I do not know why?” “My eldest son, I am at a crossroads of heart. The world and its peoples I created have given in to their most base desires and, as a result, will soon bring all to ruin. Look you upon the globe and see its fields and mountains strewn with the blood of war unending. Go to that window and gaze out onto the waters and see that it runs red. My son, I am fearful that in creating life I have erred. My hubris may have been too great and my will and skill too weak. The love I feel for every molecule of my creation is slowly being subsumed by despair at their rejection of peace. So I ask of you, my son, will you lift this burden from my shoulders?”
Faylen politely refused. “Father, even though I am the oldest I do not feel I can carry the weight of the world. I have too much to enjoy in this world to be bothered by the petty squabbles of mortals. Ask Keldor, he is the smartest of us. He should be the one to take your place.” And with that, Faylen kissed his father’s hand and departed his chamber.
Before long a second knock came at the door. Olgath again called out “Come in my son and lend me your voice.” Keldor, his second son, entered. He moved the book he was carrying from his right hand to his left. He pushed his glasses higher on his nose and bowed in deference to his father. “Father, how may I serve you?” said Keldor in his steely voice.
Olgath repeated his woes to his second son and again asked “My son, will you lift this burden from my shoulders?” Keldor squinted and thought for a moment. “Father, I love you dearly, but I cannot take this burden from you.” He shuffled the pages of the book he was carrying and spoke in a cold tone, “There is too much yet to learn. I have plans to build great cities, vast countries. I will not have time to do as you ask. Perhaps my younger brother, in his piety, can hold the weight of the world.” He bowed again to his father, turned and left the chamber.
Before long a third knock came at the door. Olgath again called out “Come in my son and lend me your voice.” Dashram, his third son, entered his chamber. His face was shadowed by the hood of his dark monks robes. His glided in as a spirit on the wind coming to kneel at his father’s side. “Father of my body, what do you ask of me?” said Dashram in a deep soft voice.
For a third time, Olgath repeated his troubles to his son. He asked “My son, will you lift this burden from my shoulders?” Dashram prostrated himself in front of his father, and in that deep soft voice pleaded forgiveness. “Father, I beg forgiveness from you for what you ask I cannot do. I live in-service to the goddess and must remain in her graces. My heart aches for the plight of the world but I cannot turn my back on my faith.
Olgath leaned down to his son, blessed him, and sent him on his way. Before he closed the door Dashram paused. “Father, Cerebor will be the one to carry this load. He has been for many years but never known.”
Two knocks wrapped on Olgath’s door and it was immediately pushed open. “Father I came as soon as I heard. Are you alright, can I get you something to drink?” The young burly man shuffled over to his father and took him by the arm. He lead him gently to a chair and moved to begin making tea. Olgath reached out to his son. “Cerebor, please leave all of that alone and come sit with me. I have a very important question to ask you.”
Cerebor came and sat with his father. Olgath for a final time explained his fear to his son. But before he could ask his question Cerebor interjected. “Father, why don’t you let me take this burden from your shoulders? I have the strength to lead this world out of darkness and back into the light. I will hold my brothers to their duties and bring peace to the universe you have made.” Tears welled in Olgath’s eyes as he embraced his son. He thanked him and blessed him.
Soon after, Cerebor remade the world as he saw fit. He tore the land in two casting one portion above and another down below. He then rallied his brothers and waged a righteous war on the evil creatures and spirits of the land, casting them into the dark underground prison Cerebor had created. When their work was done, Cerebor sealed the land with his and his brothers spirits, forever blessing the world and its peoples.
This story exists in every culture in Cerebor in one form or another. It lives deep in the land.