Once upon a time, a race of fae was born in a glade called the eldaar. The fae harvested sap from the strange and luminous plants that grew in this glade. The sap brought them strange visions of worlds yet to be formed in places far from home and times long past or many eons to come.

The queen of the fae was named Rhea the Green Jade and her palace was esconced in the wooded halls of the pole oak which stretched high into the heavens up towards the stars. It was there that she tended to budding fruit with seeds so sweet it could turn your teeth to sugary glaze.

Rhea's daughters mingled among the treefolk and the magicked woods. From the slyphs of the forest, they began to learn the arts of sculpture and craft. Weaving and whittling out of what was dead and dried in their precious glade, they carved out signs and sigils that would one day become the runes of the anglo.

They wove the story of symbols into the lower chambers of the pole oak, and those symbols laid dormant once the fae were gone. None knew the story of their disappearance from the vale. Only the traces of their palace remained to speak for them, and the whispers immortalized by the canopy of leaves and treetops in the winds, who would murmer stories of the fae, and the luminous lands they'd tended.

When the moon joined hands with the sun, the strange runes on the pole oak began to shimmer and glow. They beget a strange magick to the land, and geometry seemed to spire outward from all the things that grew in the hallowed sanctuary. Unfurling like a blossom, the first druid was born under the roots of the ruins of eldaar, and inscriped upon his forehead was a shining sapphire, the condensed ancestry of a long forgotten tribe...the speakers of eldaar, who knew the flower tongue....