Before the stars were shaped, before any sea had known a shore, there stood in the Timeless Halls a city of white stone and ever-burning lamps. Within that city was a place where the Mighty gathered after long labours. Mead and beer flowed freely, and hearth-fires crackled. This was the Cottage of Lost Play, and many deeds of renown were begun there, often with a cup of ale in hand.

Aghulez came, the smoke from his forge still around him. Athariz and Ulluboz came behind. Tulukhastaz greeted them all, laughing so loudly that the lamps trembled, but Namoz said nothing, sitting in quiet as was his way. Embelekkhoruz had not yet arrived. He often came late and left early and was not sorry to do either.

But at the far end of a bar that gleamed from over-polishing, one sat who would not be roused. Erunuz's cup was full, as it had been full for many days. Manawenuz sat beside him, speaking of the winds blowing in high places, but he was not answered. Athariz wheedled and coaxed, urging Erunuz to walk through the wild grass of her gardens, and Ulluboz sang to him of deep places and places deeper still, but he would not be stirred from his thoughts. Even bold Tulukhastaz fell silent at the end.

So things went for a long while, if a while means anything in the Cottage of Lost Play.

Then early on a Friday evening, when the lamps burned bright and golden and the great mirror shone silver behind the bar, Erunuz rose. The gossip and chatter in the Cottage faltered and ceased.

"Friends," he said, and there was a light in his face that none had seen before. "I am weary of silence, and you are weary of waiting for me to end it. A new idea has come to me. Let us all stage a great play!"

For a long while, no one spoke. Far down the bar, the barkeep, a small and unregarded spirit named Lindo, let a cup slip from his hands, but he did not hear it break.