:I see: Leareth isn't sure if this is the sort of creation myth that's some amount metaphorical. :I will likely wish to know more of the gods, soon, but - where do your people come in?: 

We were created in the Outer Lands, beside the lake Cuivienen, when all the gods save Melkor had retreated to Valinor. Melkor discovered us first, and he stole people away to torture and kill and to breed his own race of beings, called orcs, that could kill the rest of us. But Oromë, the god of hunting, travelling in the Outer Lands, found us, and the other gods went to war with Melkor over the evils he had done, and they offered us the chance to come to Valinor. 

Most people were too afraid to accept. But three Elves - Ingwë of the Vanyar, Finwë of the Noldor, Olwë of the Telari - agreed to go see Valinor and learn if it was suitable for our people. They went, they returned, and they persuaded most of their people to accompany them. And when they arrived here, they built Tirion and taught the Valar the other things that our people needed to be happy, and the Valar worked with us on those, and our civilizations flourished.

:...And what happened to Melkor, and the orcs?: 

The orcs are still there, I think, some of them. The gods did not know how to heal them and make them what they're supposed to be. Melkor was chained and imprisoned for three Ages.

:'Was'? Is he still there now?: At some point he's going to have to clarify their calendar, but right now all of his instincts are on alert, hunting for the threat that he really ought to have asked about first. 

He was paroled after the three Ages were up. He apologized at the seat of the Valar and understood the evil he'd done and swore to do no more of it, and to devote himself forever to serving the people he had wronged, and to work on the project of healing the orcs, which cannot be done without him.

Which is possibly the most doomed plan that Leareth has ever heard of, but...not out of place, in a world of people who think that the worst thing about their nobility bringing swords into a succession dispute is that someone might hurt themselves by accident, but of course it's all going to be ironed out in the end with some apologies and embarrassment. 

:Thank you for telling me: he sends, choosing his words very carefully. :I...have a very bad feeling about this. I could be wrong - I am not of your world - but in my own world, it would do well not to trust the word of a being who has already shown his nature in his actions. And the events you hear happening now in Tirion have the smell of a god's interference. I find myself doubting that Melkor is as sorry as he claimed:

Leareth sits back to wait for the inevitable indignant defence of a god who murdered and tortured their people but should, of course, be forgiven because he apologized. 

It's been a hundred Years since his release and he's done as he said. I can't - really imagine how he'd be responsible for Fëanáro, Fëanáro makes a point of disliking him. It's not anything at all like the things he did before, in any event. But - I guess if he's making people dislike each other then even though that's not actually evil we really ought to know about it so we can correct for it? 

...That's sort of kind of maybe a step in the right direction? 

:It could be that he has changed for the better: not that Leareth is betting on it :and nonetheless still likes to see the world - disrupted. Whether or not inciting conflict among your people ought be considered evil, it could lead to tragedy. My world bears a long history of such disputes that ended with much worse than a few accidental injuries. So either way, I think that something needs to be done, urgently: 

Well, I suppose you should probably go tell the King that, then, we're not carrying any swords around out here. He feels like this was sort of a snappish response and he feels vaguely apologetic about it but really, Tirion nonsense shouldn't be swallowing up perfectly nice things like meeting interworld visitors.

Wilindë serves him dumplings.

:I am not in such a hurry that I would depart now before sampling more of your wonderful cooking: he assures them. He casts about for the most recent question dropped in favour of something else more urgent. :Might I clarify how long these Years and Ages are?: 

A Year has 1440 days in it, Wilindë offers, smiling at him. It's been....maybe a hundredth of a day since you arrived. An Age is a hundred Years.

Leareth does some mental math, nods. He's doing some estimating here, but 'about a thousand years' is plenty long enough for a god to arrange some kind of indirect plan that will, eventually, result in a lot more things broken or dead or on fire. Which is apparently how Melkor prefers it. 

:How long do your people live?: he asks. 

I don't know what you mean. Would Leareth like some pear tart.

Leareth would like some pear tart. Also, what. :Do your people become frail with advanced age and eventually die of this?: And an earlier part is niggling. :You spoke of a person who died and refused to come back. Is it the usual state of affairs, then, for those who die to return to life again, as themselves?: 

- we do not become frail with advanced age and die of it, no, that sounds like it'd be really inconvenient! And yes, usually if someone dies then Mandos - the Vala of the dead - puts them right back, after straightening them out about whatever reckless decisions they died of.

:It is what happens to all living beings in my world, sooner or later. It is rather inconvenient, as well as tragic. What kinds of reckless decisions do people usually die of?: If nobody ever actually dies permanently for real, in this world, because they have a personal god to bring them back right away, maybe it's no wonder that they're so...trusting. 

That's awful! You should take it straight to the Valar, I'm sure they can fix it. 

:I will consider it, thank you: 

For about thirty seconds seconds before he concludes with a resounding ‘definitely NOT’. He isn’t much inclined to trust gods, period, and even if the Valar are good, if they're as naive as their people and paroled Melkor and he's right about this being a terrible idea – or, honestly, even if he's wrong in this case – they won't stand a chance against the gods of Velgarth. 

People die of swimming accidents, mostly. Occasionally hunting accidents, Tehlan adds. I think once a child was hit by a cart.

Leareth nods. 

:You live in a good world: he sends, and means it. It's...something he's tried to imagine, sometimes. The kind of world where bad things do, sometimes, happen, but where nobody is ever punished permanently for one-time mistakes. Where a child can still be hit by a cart, maybe, but they come back again. Maybe after a god admonishes them to look both ways before they cross the street next time. 

Leareth is...having some kind of emotion about this fact. He's not sure what it is yet. 

Of course, there's the part where he's not at all convinced this world is going to stay a paradise for much longer. And it's not like he knows exactly how bad the parts of it are that lie outside the place where the gods retreated to build perfection around them. 

Tehlan's son -- who looks about sixteen, if he were human -- comes back with eggs and flour, hands them to his mom, and stands against the wall watching Leareth with fascination.  What's the place where you're from like?

:My world is called Velgarth: Leareth starts. :It has gods as well, though they're less helpful to people, and it has magic too. Which might be different from your magic – who made the artifacts here? Your stove, the statues: 

People can make them, but it takes a lot of concentration, and I haven't learned how yet. Yávië's friend made the statues. We had a smallgod here just to make it rain on our farm, because we wanted to grow things that need more rain than this area gets, and he heard about it and said you could do it with magic. Now they water the yard. The stove my parents got as a wedding present.

Leareth smiles. :How clever! We also have weather-magic in my world, but none that can be cast onto an artifact to work by itself. Mortal magic users – humans such as myself, and other species – are responsible for most work with magic, either an artifact like your stove or, more commonly, simply casting when it is needed. Rarely, a god will intervene to create something. We do not have smallgods; we do have extraplanar beings which can be summoned for certain magical purposes, but they are not necessarily friendly and those more powerful than mortals are risky to call on:

He glances around. :I might show you some of my magic, if you wish?: Well, a very minor demonstration, he's low on reserves and has no idea how to get more.