They called their nation Between.
The rest of the world, they called Good and Evil. Not that they recognized much difference.
“Whether you were painting rams’ blood on the standing stones or roasting mutton to feed the knights,” the old ones would say, “doesn’t it amount to about the same? And we sure as hell have to sacrifice virgins, whichever side decides to pass through our territory. So where does that leave us?”
In Between, of course.
Few peoples are so certain of the world, or their place in it.
Occasionally, though, someone will reason that “if we live between Good and Evil, wouldn’t it make more sense just to walk west down the mountains and go all the way over to Good? It should be better than here, right? By definition?”
And so, one day, a young man left the village of his birth and took the One Road down the mountain to seek his fortune.