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	A crippling silence overtook the lifeblood that pooled at the great fen. A large swathe of it that stretched far into the horizon shivered as if in a grimacing pain -- save for one small freckle that seemed to soak in the misery of the shudder. 

	This everstretched tract of lifeblood turned its attention towards a particular area of the fen, near the center -- hidden behind a wall of beech trees: a grove ringed by blue and white headed mushrooms and blanketed in a deeply green moss. Tiny stones littered the grove here and there like miniature headstones and reeked of a past despite time just beginning.

	The lifeblood shivered once more as it swirled in this strange spot, and then without much else -- its power pulsed. The ground shook and crackled as two pillars of stone, no taller than a man and no wider than a leg, sprouted a healthy distance from each other. It was unremarkable in all ways except its simplicity. Unsatisfied, the lifeblood pulsed again, and a webbing of metal stretched between the pillars to make a gate with no hinge, already rusted in place. Reluctantly, the lifeblood added one final feature to the gate: a mark on one of the pillars that in the most basic of any language said: “The Son of Night will Be Brought to Light.”

	Pausing, the Lifeblood knew it was not done. A tender tendril went out through the now sacred grove and latched onto the nothingness between the beech trees and patterns of mushrooms. With a gentle stroke, the lifeblood coaxed many tiny sprouts to grow. The single springs of green curled at the tops and never left a foot off the ground before suddenly producing a head of violet buds and four speared leaves. In moments, the buds sprouted into white and purple flowers with a sticky scent, and in moments more the blossoms produced tiny berries -- berries with the strange property of filling entire stomachs for days with impossible nutrition -- a unique staple to this budding grove, a houllin berry.

	A contemplative silence overtook the area once more. Various song birds and little fen mice were collecting in the grove, but it was not done. Amidst the fresh buzzing of dragonflies, the lifeblood took a gentle motion and sprouted a spattering of tiny stones, each the size of a thumb. There was hesitation, there was pause, but then there was a pulse of life -- and the stones cracked. 

	Out from the stone shells stepped tiny people, each the size of a thumb. With care, the lifeblood scooped the confused beings from the mossy blanket below and placed them in a woody cavern that cracked a beech tree’s hide. Another waft of the lifeblood, and a tiny pile of houllin berries were placed before the oogling people, gentle coos of wonder echoing among the tiny crowd. 

	The lifeblood shaded the thumblings from the sun as they blinked their eyes, adjusting to life. It brought them water whenever they began to thirst, and collected berries for them. Just as the thumblings watched the primordial ooze of divine life before them, the divine watched back with the same interest -- most notably that tiny freckle.



[hider=might summary]

Starting with 5mp:

-1 on holy site: the grove with a gate

-1 on the Houllin Berry, a few berries can sustain a being for days!
-2 on Thumblings, thumb sized people!

Ending with 1mp


[/hider]

[hider=Summary]

The lifeblood finds a strange place and marks it sacred. There a strange prophecy is made, or at least part of one, and then comes the creation of berries that could fill a stomach for days, and then a race of thumb sized people. From that point on the lifeblood simply begins to feed and water and shade the people as they adjust to life, watching with interest.

[/hider]