The Gibberlings tell many tales of the legends of their people, but few are so loved as the story of Swen, a humble fisherman who changed everything. He was called Swine by his friends, for he loved nothing more than to visit the tavern until all hours, pouring drink down his throat.
Swen had a strong and independent wife who, of course, disapproved of his hobby. On the fateful day in question, she forbade Swen from going fishing, knowing that he would most likely return drunk and empty-handed. She locked away his nets and fishing rods and Swen, being a stubborn man, snuck away from his home to the tavern, where he could complain loudly about the cruelty of his wife. After many, many drink and much talk, he remembered who would be waiting for him upon his return home. Fearing her retribution, Swen thought of a plan: he would go fishing and return triumphantly with a feast. As everyone knows, no one gives out about a good thing.
His equipment locked away at home, Swen improvised a fishing line at the riverbank. Instead of a hook, he used a bent, rusty nail and weighted it with a stone he found laying on the ground. Please with himself, he jumped into his boat, dropped his line and promptly fell asleep. When he woke a few hours later though, he swore he would never drink again. His boat had drifted over the edge of his allod and was now floating in the emptiness of the Astral, yet somehow he was still alive! His fishing line was glimmering with strange colours coming from the stone he had found on the riverbank, and the mysterious rays cloaking his boat seemed to be protecting him from the Astral.
Swen pinched himself to see if he was awake, but he wasn’t dreaming. He was floating all alone in the Astral abyss.
He rowed back to his allod as quickly as he could, swinging the magic stone as he went. By the next day, all the villagers were scampering about the river seeking similar stones. Within a week, the sound of axes and saws could be heard across the village, building a fleet of new boats. The boats were brought to the Astral shore, filled with provisions, and the village was soon abandoned.
Swen’s drunken excursion had begun the Era of Astral Travel. Tiny things are often the most important.