My thoughts on a possible prologue

Deep in the heart of the city, children of all ages were running. Obviously this is not an unusual thing for children are always racing about. Today however, the children were racing through the maze of streets laughing and screaming with delight as they made their way towards the old archive building.
Word was She was to be there today.
These were not scholarly children. Most couldn't even write their names. Their haste was driven by their desire for a story from Evalia.
Nobody knew how old the wizened old woman really was. Most of the adults remember her being old when they were children. All tried to guess her age, but nobody had any proof. Of one thing they were certain, she was the oldest citizen of Sparkton.
Amongst the group of rowdy children ran a small wiry boy.
This was his first visit to story time. He had been working hard to build his strength so he didn't fall behind and miss out. His tiny body could hardly contain his excitement.
Yesterday mother said he could come, and he hardly slept a wink last night from anticipation.
When he did sleep, he dreamt of shining swords, fearsome dragons, and he: a heroic knight charged with saving the world!
He hoped that these things and more would be in Evalia's story today. Well he knew he wouldn't be the hero, but he could imagine he was .
As they reached the doors of the archive building, the children began pushing and shoving to get in first. All wanted to sit as close as possible to Evalia so as to not miss a word of her tales.
Once inside the building the laughter bounced off the walls before dying out quickly as clerks and librarians scowled and hushed at them.
The little boy, too small to shove his way past the others, skidded to a halt when he saw the size of the entrance to his archived. His jaw dropped open and it took him a few moments to overcome his amazement before realising he had been left behind.
He scurried to catch up with the others before they got too far ahead.
The children in front of him all of a sudden came to a standstill and the boy skidded to a stop behind them just short of crashing into a girl with blonde wavy locks and a full head taller than him.
A raspy, yet captivating voice rose above the chatter of the children.
"A rare tale I shall tell you today my dears. A rare tale indeed.
It is said that this story was once considered half truth and half unfulfilled prophecy. Many of you will only believe it a fable.
Many years ago, too many to count, was a time when one man's greatest desire was to know his purpose.
Life was hard in those days. Foraging for food was the only known way to survive. No man had learnt to hunt animals or cultivate crops. Many simple tools and utensils had not been invented. One man, Tristan, roamed the land seeking for a better way. He was frustrated that the weakest and slowest of his people died because the fastest refused to share what food they found. He searched high up in the mountains, across rolling plains and along the greet rivers for others who may have ideas to improve gathering techniques. None he met on his travels could satisfy him with answers. Men everywhere lived the same rule: survival of the fittest. Some joined him on his quest, usually the weakest of the groups he met. Sensing that if answers were found then life would be better for all. With their common goal they soon began sharing food equally among the small group.
This improve ten gave Tristan some hope but still he felt responsible for his followers and was anguished by the lack of answers to his questions. They had searched everywhere. He felt he had failed them all.
One cool night around the fire, their hopeful looks became too much for him to bear, seeking solitude for the night he wandered into a nearby grove of trees to rest.
With the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, he cried out to his creator. He wasn't sure if there was a creator, but felt desperate enough to try anything including supplication to a higher being if one existed.
The Creator heard his cry and could not ignore it. No man had sought him out since he formed them. He felt compelled to respond.
After crying out for what seems like hours, Tristan fell into a fitful sleep. While Tristan slept, the Creator visited him in a dream. He showed him his strengths: compassion, leadership and wisdom. And showed him his weaknesses: anger and bitterness. He told Tristan that his  desires were good and he had a special task for him to do.
As he was the first to see the wrongs of the people, and the first to seek ways to improve life for the weakest, he would be a conduit through which the Creator would instruct and guide others. He would become the First Sightgiver.
His task would be to help others discover their true natures, their unique talents and shortcomings. For only when a persons knows his own nature, both good and bad elements, can he achieve greatness.
Tristan woke early in the morning completely overcome with gratitude that he had finally received and answer, yet quite unaware at how his actions would dramatically change the course of history.

I have been extremely naughty. I haven't written consistently since I started studying.
I know, it's not that naughty, but I'm sad I got out of the flow of writing. I loved the feeling I got when I was creating characters and scenes. I plan to get back into it.
To be honest, I have still taken notes when something interesting pops into my brain, or when I have a cool dream. Dreams are my biggest inspiration. All it takes is a small scene in a dream and I feel the itch to write. I really want to get back to posting those rumblings here so I have them all in the one place. And perhaps my good friends (like Dee) will point out the holes so I can fix them. A writer is only as good as their group of honest editors. So her goes to another try at getting all the stories I have inside out into the universe.