This is a world where names have power, a world of magic, faeries, and treasure. Here there be dragons, elves, ruins of ancient cities and great metropolises of trade and learning. In this world, the wind is accompanied by the whispers of trees and the distant call of birds. It is a wild place, in some parts entirely untamed and in others dormant, waiting for its chance to spring up again. Here there is no beginning. No ending. The story that is the world has been, is, and will be. There are, however, beginnings. And there are certainly smaller endings. Things are born. Things die. And some things, but not all things, will be again. It is said here that something wild lurks at the heart of every soul, a space that thrills to the sound of nightingales calling, to the whispering wind through the silver trees, to the unexpected gold of a lily- and it is in this space that the gods dwell. Their power springs from the brook and stream, their might heightened by the waving of the fens, by the hushed whispers of the forest, by the empty rushing of the high moor. These are the faces seen in the boles of trees or the voices in the babbling brook. These gods are those who made and named themselves.
This is a place where names, deeds and world-shaking events are emblazoned in the night sky, where the stars themselves change to reflect the design of each passing day. A great hero may find themselves reflected in image on the heavens. It is these mighty events that change the stars that alter history forever, and they are more common than one might think.
Tuatha’Dam’Aine is a name, and like every name, it means many things. It is the name of the gods. It is the name of the world, maybe the universe. But it is also a question, a dare to the observer. “Pin me down,” it says. “If you can.”