I was Damaral, the blind child, promised to the night by the priests of the village.
Men have always been afraid of these dark moments when the seven suns hidetheir faces. Men have always tried to soothe
the one who rules those times. She spreaded her veil on me at birth, and my world faded, colorful spots in the night,
tiny stars in my blindness. Hesperides shown a good place for me, and Euphronée a good mother : although she closed my eyes, she offered me her voice to color the world.
One day a shade deeper than my night came to me.
I was Dramaal, bard of the powerful.
Each battle, each encounters remember my song. I dreamt of violence and sang veangeance. I offered fury to the men,
told them about terror and victory. For vigils I related their feats of arms and massacres.
I slept deeply : the night was dark and silent.
One day I felt on the battlefield, sinking in a dark crimson hole.
I am Darlaam the Storyteller.
Relieved from my restless dreams, peaceful, freed from my darkness. The shadow has taken on me, my night is starry.
My songs try to be a light where darkness are at work. The task is immense, the enemy fearsome.
But the night my mother protects me: her cloak conceals me in the very midst of the darkness,
her breath lighten my steps.