Vildail Rackarninja

Years ago, a star fell from the sky. It streaked across the soars, blazing bright as it fell. Every sky neared witness to it drop, burning bright from the heavens above us. It landed beneath the cloudfloor, where none have ever returned. There was an old couple, a skyfishing couple, husband and wife, who felt its heat and nearly burnt up. The star struck through the cloudfloor and from that spot came a new spire. Not a tall mountain, but a handful of top, just enough for it to land. The couple drew close, drifting down until they were looking down at the crater made in the nearly submerged hill. All they saw at first was a crater of sand. Then, movement. Wiggling. Black skinned toes and fingers, at first, or perhaps that is what they wished to see. A baby with skin blacker than night. Not dark from the sun's kiss, but black from the night's tear. Smooth and leathery like a wing, supple like jelly and wine. The baby's face had no features save two glowing orbs, which the couple took as eyes bright as white jewels. It had no mouth, or nose, or brow. Its face was smooth and soft. The old couple, not knowing what else to do, gathered up the baby and brought it on board their small fishing boat. They wrapped it in thick oilskin, and the old woman carved the child a face that it could return their gentle smiles. They would name this child Vildail, which means falling stone, and they would raise it as their own until such a time as the youth would leave them, and journey across the sky. They never heard the youth speak, but they found the thought of him constantly in their minds, .

This was the first known medua.