It is said that many years ago, wealthy cities and towns covered the lands upon which we now live. It is said that the peoples then knew much, being advanced in science and art, as well as diplomacy. Whether this is true or not cannot be said, for there are conflicting facts. It is true that there are marvels in this land we call home, great structures and the remains of tools that can occasionally be found. But balancing those marvels is the fact that the culture that created them no longer exists. No Ancients remain to tell us of their cities, or to show us how to use their tools. In this, as in all things, the hand of Edalirin is seen.

In this writing, we will document the ways of those who currently dwell in the Holy Lands, whose name will not be captured with pen, but which each who follows Edalirin knows. We will tell the tale of those who dare to worship in the sands of the desert, who know the value of life and legend, and who honor the Holy with each moment that they live. In this tale, as in all things, the hand of Edalirin is seen.

Surric was the name of a man among the most noble of those who grazed his flocks at the edge of the Holy Land. He and his sons tended many sheep, and their wives and daughters, honorable and true all, wove the wool into cloth, made cheeses, and gathered the bounty of the land. Surric heard, one day in conversation with his neighbors, of a people living in the deserts who lacked food and shelter, though they possessed great wealth of mineral and metal. So it was that Surric determined to take his family and those of his sons, and travel to see these people, to trade his goods for theirs. In this, as in all things, the hand of Edalirin is seen.

The family of Surric folded their tents, filled their skins with water, collected their cloth and goods, and the strongest of their flocks, and set off into the desert. At first, travel was difficult, but Surric exhorted his family, reminding them of the bounty they would receive upon trade with the desert peoples, and reminding them that each step they took was a new lesson in life. The family struggled on, over dune and across barren rock, until the sons of Surric began to murmur among themselves in anger. "Father has misled us," they complained. "We will die here in this desert, and all our family and flock with us." But none was brave enough to stand up to Surric, so they muttered to themselves, but did little else except struggle to survive. In this, as in all things, the hand of Edalirin is seen.

Soon Surric’s principle wife Nayyir heard of the mutterings. She had buried her own fears in trust, but the words of her sons began to make her doubt. She met with them, and with their wives, and all came to understand that they must either change the mind of Surric, and make him return home with them; or that they must leave him to die in his madness, while they returned to the gentler lands from which they had come. Nayyir counseled trust at first, but after many days of traveling in circles through the desert, with water skins shriveling and animals from the flock falling dead by the wayside, she could no longer believe that Surric’s path was the right one. She came to her husband in the night, her hair wild and drifting in the winds, demanding that he turn back for their home; demanding that he not kill his family in his folly. In this, as in all things, the hand of Edalirin is seen.

Surric was angered by Nayyir’s words, though he himself had seen the loss and struggle of his family. "How dare you allow your hair to be unbound, as if you were some lesser woman? You are my wife! How dare you not believe in me and my goal!" He cast her out of his tent, as was his right. But this angered her sons, and they stormed back in, demanding that Surric change his mind. They threatened him with naked blades. There was a struggle, and Surric was injured, one of his sons killed. Surric stumbled from his tent, and into the sands. In this, as in all things, the hand of Edalirin is seen.

Surric’s blood dripped into the sands. He stumbled away, west so he thought, while his family buried one, and turned back to the east. But the flocks of the family refused to travel, leaping about, and splitting, until they were traveling in twos and threes. Despairing of collecting the flock, the sons and wives of Surric’s family left them, traveling back the way they had come. It is said that they died there in the desert. What is known is that none bearing their names were heard from again. In this, as in all things, the hand of Edalirin is seen.

Surric wandered in the desert for many days, heading in circles so it seemed. Slowly, the flocks returned to him, encircling him at night to warm him. In his fever, ewes offered milk to him, and he lived. When he came back to his senses, he was changed, for he had been touched by the Holy Land, and the hand of Edalirin.

One morning, a glow appeared in the sky to the south. Curious, Surric moved forward quickly, the flock accompanying him. He strode over dune and through trough, until he crested a rise to look down at a large oasis near a vast sea . There, a splendor he had never even dreamed of gleamed in the light of the sun. A large seat, rays of crimson and azure, verdant green and gleam of gold, glittered in a bed of sand. Surric slid down the dune’s face and circled the gleaming object. It seemed almost to sing, as if the light from it were woven into a sweet lullaby. He drew near, then hesitantly sat upon the great seat.

Almost immediately, the hand of Edalirin touched Surric. He dreamed great dreams, of a city by the ocean, of tribes crossing the desert, of men and women worshipping in the Holy Land as it was meant to be. No man knows how long Surric dreamt, there in the oasis surrounded by his flocks, but when he woke, he was astounded to see tents circling the small haven in the desert. Nomads had been drawn to the oasis by a fiery glow that rivaled the sun in day and was a beacon at night, and had heard the voice of Edalirin whispering through Surric’s lips as he reclined in the seat of light. When finally Surric awakened, he looked upon followers who listened to his every word as if they came from Edalirin Himself. And so they had. In this, as in all things, the hand of Edalirin is seen.

Surric’s words to the nomads instructed them to lift the great seat of light, called from then on Tar’il, and carry it west, where they would find a place to build the city Edalirin had promised would show the greatness of the Holy Land. The nomads lifted Tar’il, and they and their flocks, tents and wives joined Surric on his quest to find the place of glory. And on the seventh day of travel, as he came over a dune to gaze down at the sea, Surric knew, as Edalirin spoke in his mind, that he had found the place where the city would grow.

The first followers of Surric labored to build a palace to harbor Tar’il, and to build homes for themselves. The city was called Sakril, in honor of Surric, and of the holy words of the gods of the desert. In time, the sons and grandsons of Sakril traded across the desert, spreading word of Tar’il, and of the wisdom of the words spoken by Surric as he sat upon the throne of stone. Many came to see the wonder for themselves, and were converted to belief, and carried that back to their homes and towns. Those within the desert pledged themselves to follow Surric, to heed the words of Edalirin, and to hold Sakril as their capitol. But Surric had grown old as well, and he had taken no other wife to himself, after the betrayal of his family. His advisors began to worry. They knew that Edalirin would take Surric from them, in time. Who would follow him as leader of the people of the Holy Land? Who would speak the words of Edalirin as he sat upon Tar’il?

THE SECOND SURRIC

Perhaps only Surric himself did not doubt that Edalirin would provide. There came, in those days, a storm upon the ocean. Waves battered the coast, rain the walls of the growing city. The storm raged for days, until the counselors and wise men of the city hovered before aged Surric, seated in Tar’il. "Honored Surric, what shall we do? The storms rage. The people fear."

Surric looked up, and a lone shaft of light lanced down through the clouds and rain to light the gems of Tar’il, sending beams of color throughout the room. "It will be as Edalirin commands," he answered. "His hand touches all. From this storm shall come the answer to your worry. Upon his line will glory shine. Do not fear. Send word to the people that the storm is a blessing."

The counselors and wise men spread the word, and the city dwellers were reassured. In the early dawn of the next day, a great crowd rushed toward the palace. "My lord, my lord!" some cried. "A miracle!" Waves had crashed on the shore all night, and upon the breaking of day, a fisherman braving the wind and rain had found a small boy huddled there, a patchwork cloth of many colors wrapped around him. It was this child that the fisherman, along with many who joined him, carried to the palace.

Upon seeing the boy, Surric nodded, and sat upon Tar’il for what was to be the last time. He waved the fisherman forward, and reached for the boy. "Hear the words of Edalirin," he spoke. "This boy, brought us by the storm, will take this seat next, and through him, Edalirin will speak." As the boy was settled on the old man’s lap, the storm broke. The clouds parted, and sunlight struck Tar’il, more strongly than it ever had, or so it seemed to those there. As the boy placed a hand on the old man’s shoulders, those shoulders drooped, Surric’s eyes closed, and he passed from life.

Then the boy spoke the first words he had since he had been found. Those listening knew them for the command of Edalirin. "I take the name of Surric for my own, as each after me will do, as well. Take this loyal servant. He will join the sands, and sleeps now with the gods." So the hand of Edalirin chose the next to sit upon Tar’il, and so it has been since.