In truth, Saint Asher did not walk away triumphantly from Cable's forest as would be told later. He was greatly weakened in body though not in morale, and eventually his body would fail him as his golden blood streamed to earth from a thousand wounds. He fell to his knees, still gripping the heads of foulest Ngugu and Kiteph.
He looked upwards, where he could see Aesho circling above through the trees.
"Behold, my Lord Daevak... my Father... have I not done thee well?"
And with these words he collapsed... releasing his grip upon the monstrous heads to pull his broken sword close to his chest as he fell into a deep sleep within the Great Forest.
Kraton had completed the first phase of his mission: he had spread the knowledge of animal husbandry to the other orcs. They had managed to tame wolves, a large species of goat known as the turbock, and a species of Dromaeosauridae named the velocigeier.
The wolves aided the orcs in the hunt and proved useful at guarding the turbocks and the children. Turbocks where used to carry supplies, for milk, and for the easy meat on days where hunting proved unsuccessful. The velocigeier where mostly used for their meat and eggs, but they where sometimes used by the hunters to flush out prey they didn't want to risk the wolves with.
Kraton had run into a problem however, as there was no way off the continent of the orcs.
"Primal! The Wild One who presides over the lesser creatures of the world, hear my plea!"
Several nearby trees uprooted themselves bound together to take the shape of a wooden sasquatch.
"I am here Kraton, tell me why you have called." said Primal.
Kraton seemed both angered and embarrassed about what he had to say, "I can no longer preform my duties; I can find no way off this land. The only other island in sight is too far away to swim and any rafts I make seem to be rejected by the waters themselves."
"I shall aid you then! I suspect that your contemporary is having the same difficulties that you are."
The wooden sasquatch then took the form of wooden bird with leafy feathers. Primal took hold of Kraton and searched out his human priest. Primal spotted him looking out across the ocean. Primal set Kraton down next to the human and then Primal landed.
"Human, this is my other priest, he is of the orcs."
The priest bowed to Primal before addressing Kraton, "Hello orc, my name is Van."
Van offered a hand to Kraton, Kraton looked at it for a moment before responding.
"Greetings Van, I am Kraton, Slayer of the god-lizard and First Shaman of Primal, my kin are that of the Sacred Mountain Tribe."
"Enough of these greetings, I have something I wish to tell you."
Van got down on one knee before Primal, Kraton looked at Van for a moment before focusing on the god before him.
As my priests you are to honor me above all other gods, but I am not a petty god, you must devout your worship to me, but I shall allow you to ask the other gods who hold precedence over your needs for assistance, only if they refuse you should you ask me for help in matters such as this. Next time you must cross these waters try asking Svedre for safe passage, but this time I shall transport you to a new continent."
"Now to the matters at hand. Kraton, you are to stay here and teach the humans your gift, Van, I shall carry you to another land, the orcs lifestyle and dietary needs would not let them easily live as a simple farmer, they are a people of the hunt and the herd."
Primal then took hold of Van and flew him off to a distant land who had not learned of the true glory that was Primal.
Saint Asher awoke in the forest, his wounds still painful, but healing fast.
How much time has passed? He wondered, gazing at his bloodstained body and cradling his broken sword.
It seemed that much time had passed indeed, for upon return to his tribesmen he would find that they had advanced greatly in his absence as he hunted the Natterlings... they grew crops, built permanent and sturdy structures to defend them from the wild things of the world... and they made fire.
And from fire could be made Steel. It could be made into weapons and armor, like he had known on Aesho.
He helped the men to see in the in the potential of rock, the blessings of the Elder Gomac... that what lay within would make them stronger in the defense of their people.
And man, ingenious as he was, quickly developed iron and steel... in ways that surprised the young God. And though they offered him generous gifts, Saint Asher would always carry his broken sword into battle, that last heirloom and memory of his old home. In a time, he even came to be known in some tribes as Brokensword, and this emblem would be found on the armor and shields of his followers.
The legend and power of brokensword grew as he sent more Natterlings to Daevak's Realm... and with legend and followers came power. In time, as the ring of steel on steel began to be heard in villages, Saint Asher dropped to his knees and made a silent prayer to Aesho above.
The Gift of Steel is made to men in your name, my Lord Daevak. Thy Will Be Done in this place, as it is in Aesho.
While orc hunted and men farmed, blessed by the touch of Primal, Fáidh developed by themselves.
They learned, while asleep, the secrets of the world. In dreams, they learned just how deadly the desert was, but how much life thrived within it. There were stretches of wasteland to be avoided at all costs. Here Solar did not allow anything to grow or to survive. Still, there was life in other parts of the land. They hunted, offering words to Primal as they slew his children with spear and boomerang. Draiodoir had seen it fit to teach the Fáidh the crafting of tools.
North they moved en masse, leaving behind nothing of their passing. In word and song they preserved the memories of the early trials, which would be passed down from generation to generation. Many fell victim to the desert. Their passing was mourned, and it is said that the songs for the dead are still heard in the deserts of the south.
And Lo, so it was that Verweren, He Who Stands, came to See.
The great dangers that swirled across this ball of rock were many and varied. Climate. Natterlings. The whims of His brothers and His sisters. Any or all of these could threaten It.
And so it was that Verweren Saw that He could not protect this world alone. He required assistance. And so it would be.
He stood forth, and Saw His brother, Solar. He basked in Solar's radiance, and gathered to Himself that energy.
He stood forth, and He touched the Sky. From it, He gathered the tiniest drops of rain and the tiniest bit of the wind.
He stood forth, and He reached out to the Earth. He gathered from it the strength and stamina that allowed it to last forever.
And finally, He stood forth, and He Spoke, His Word giving Form to these disparate pieces.
"Behold! Unto this World, I bequeath My power once more."
From these elements, water, wind, fire, and earth, He made them. They came together, exactly ten in all, winged to fly through the air, driven by their inner fire, implacable and unforgiving as the ocean, strong and protective as the earth.
Clad in the shining light of Verweren's love and power, filled with purpose, they flew about Him. These, these would be his First agents. These would be His hand...
"Behold, my Gift to the World. Behold, my Preserveri..."
And so, They came to Be.
KrataLightblade on
LEVEL 50 SWORD JUGGLER/WIZARD!
0
INeedNoSaltwith blood on my teethRegistered Userregular
edited April 2007
Cable was ...
bored.
There were so many of these things now (and they were all taller than her!), and they were all bland, and they walked around like they owned the place, and they were destructive and, ah, goal-oriented. They could see all the world around them for what it really was, but still, Cable had failed! They did not imagine what could be, what could never be, and that was wrong.
And Cable, the little Faerie Queen standing in a little mushroom circle in a little forest not unlike the one she had once inhabitted, spun around and stamped her foot.
Wrong, wrong, wrong!
And she shouted to her brothers and sisters in the heavens, You made broken things, and they are your things, but I will take them and make them better!
And Cable went to the tribe of humans who lived near this tiny forest, where they worked the plains and made food, where they murdered one another in the name of Asher and Daevak, where they killed in the name of lust and envy and greed and spite, and she slipped into the Headman's little brick hut, a little brick hut where a tall man made big decisions, and she robbed away his daughter while he slept; and she went to the Shaman's hut, a wooden thing with a fire of burning incense, a wooden thing where an aging man learned the secrets of the natural world, and she took away his son and daughter; and she went to the farmers' homes, and she stole away their children, one by one, an entire generation of Plainsmen following the little faerie queen as she led them away to her mushroom circle.
And Cable took them, and she told them, You are the children of Man, and you would grow up tall and strong and smart, but I am taking that away from you. You will be the children of Cable, and you will grow up small and fast and clever, and you will never be human again. You will be mortal, but you will forever see through My eyes, and it is you that I task with showing the mortals things that their sad minds will never see on their own.
I will call you sprites.
And she set them off across the world, a sprite for every handful of villages perhaps, to see through her eyes, to share her vision with the mortals.
...
And she stamped her foot and spun around, and she shouted, Wrong wrong wrong! There is more to be done, so many broken things!
Cable wandered off from her mushroom circle again, this time to the orcs - but not any orcs, no, not just any orcs would do! She had to find the orc, the orc who had bested Primal at his own game! And it was spectacular, because he was mighty but he was mighty on his own, he was not the working of any deity!
And Cable scoffed. Who was he, just another smelly mortal, to best ANY deities? No! Not okay! That is not alright, not to Cable, not at all, 'cause mortals should be smart and capable and ... and ... well, they shouldn't be that strong and smart and capable! Nope! Okay, fine, where is this orc?
So Cable went to find the orc, Kraton, that had bested Primal, and when she found him, she did not waste her breath on fair fighting or hunting or anything; rather, she found him, and she told him he would come with her, and he came with her.
And Cable did her thing, she took something that belonged to someone else and she made it her own. She said to Kraton, to orc, this: You are an orc and you are the finest of your people, but now you are mine, and you are too big. You are strong, you are tall, and while you have not the great intelligence of man, you have cunning and instinct in their place. Your flaw ... your flaw is that there is violence in you, violence for the sake of violence, and while Primal was blind to it, I am not. But! I am not here to fix that flaw. No, I can use you. Kraton, you will be small, and you will be vicious, and you will be cunning, and your greatest sin will be gluttony, and you will hunt to eat, and you will eat past your fill, and you will wash yourself in the blood of the mortals you kill, you will be a reminder of all the terrible things that walk the world, and you will always be there in the minds of mortals, and I will call you the Redcap, and you are my child.
And she set the Redcap to the globe, to indulge his sadism and his gluttony, to remind the mortals to never stop thinking of what might be waiting just out of sight.
Saint Asher had finally become strong enough to hunt out one of the most awful beings that still plagued the earth... the one known as Volko. He went to the far north, near the Lands of Chaos, where the great Natterling still choked the skies with fire and ashes.
Here, he found one of the human tribes he had met long before, who cowered in fear of Volko and the beings that served him. Saint Asher rallied them, and armed and wreathed in the gift of steel, they ventured forth to bring justice to the foul beasts.
The days that followed were soaked in blood and death. The humans were too weak to follow Asher into the Chaos Realms, some driven mad by the psionic storms, some rent in two by the awful creatures of that place... one by one they fell, and Asher had not the power to save them... he wept bitter tears, for it was only the sword that he knew.
Full of anger, he finally reached the lair of Volko. And though the dread Natterling was nigh unstoppable on the mortal plane, never had it seen the ferocity of Asher's vengeance. The young God felt no pain, no fear, and though he recieved terrible wounds he smote Volko again and again with the Broken Sword, until the beast lay dead and twitching at his feet.
Asher fell to his knees, the weight of his wounds finally falling down upon him. He looked at the destruction he had caused in astonishment... even shame.
I am a fool, he whispered, choking on his blood, I am a fool who praises the name of one who cares for only death, seeking the approval of He who has never answered my prayers... and for what? To lead my men to their death? Perhaps... I shall lie here with them...
Asher fell to the ground and wept, his body broken and bleeding... he felt the chaos storm burning down upon him. He felt weak, for his spirit had been broken by the folly of his deeds. But suddenly... he felt the touch of a hand, and glowing health streamed through his body. He started to get up.
Be still, Asher, said a calm voice that rang with a metallic clarity, Mighty you are indeed, but it is only a forgiving hand that may heal you.
Asher looked up to behold a radiant figure, whose very presence pushed away the blackness and fire of the Chaos Storm.
Who? asked Asher, Who are you?
I am Avyylar, said the Angelic Perseverant, I am a Servant of Verweren.
Asher stood, straightening his body up, though shaken he was still from battle. He felt his spirit building, his body repairing. This was a new presence he felt within him. This was something true... something that his Lord Daevak knew not... it was Mercy. A gift that he knew Men would sorely need.
I ask of you, Avyylar, said Asher, saluting with the Broken Sword, to take me to your master Verweren. Will you do this?
Primal looked down upon the world and he was troubled by what he saw, his first Shaman, the hero of the orcs, had been altered by his sister Cable to strike fear into the hearts of men.
Primal’s first job was to find a suitable replacement for Kraton.
First, Primal sought out the three greatest orcs in the land, Mergot the hunter, an orc whose skill was second only to Kraton. Lurva, the greatest herder in the world, she who could walk without fear among the mightiest of beasts and whose herd seemed but an extension of the body. Finally there was Hitok the Blind, an ancient orc and a great Chieftain who in his youth had been badly wounded and left for dead on a hunt; the crows had picked out his eyes as he hung between life and death, yet he managed to cling to life and claw his way back to his tribe where he was nursed back to health. It was said among the orcs that although Hitok’s eyes where blind to this world, he could see into the world beyond and gaze upon the dead, the past, the future, and even the gods themselves.
“You shall carry on Kraton’s work and spread the knowledge of beasts and the truth of Primal to the world. If any ask to join you on your pilgrimage, allow them to do so.â€
Primal then spread his prophets across the world so they could carry out their duties.
Now Primal had one last goal in mind before he rested. Deep in a dark and foreboding forest Primal found what he had came for, a small, twisted creature was feeding upon a traveler who had become lost within the woods. The Redcap looked up from his feast, mad eyes darting about wildly, but seeing nothing, he returned to his feast.
â€Kraton.â€
A single word, a single name, yet it banished the sounds of gorging from these dark woods. Kraton looked up once more, but this time he gazed upon the true visage of Primal, one that was raw and pure and strong. Kraton lunged at the god with reckless hunger, wishing to devour the god, for maybe that would slack his endless gluttony. Primal easily sidestepped the shadow of his former champion.
â€You where once great, now you are one of the damned. You who men fear, at heart, you are not even a beast; you are a monster who only lives to kill and consume. Do you know what you have become? Do you know what you have gained? Do you know what you lost?†There was a great sadness in Primal’s voice.
The Redcap leaped into a tree and cut a rope, causing a large branch to fall down towards Primal, but rather then hitting Primal, it fell in front of him and planted itself into the ground where it grew and spread and became a new tree.
The Redcap looked down on Primal with a lunatic grin and eyes filled with a lust for bloodshed and a hunger for god-flesh; the only thing about this cruel goblin that still held a resemblance to the proud orc he once was where the scars across his face.
Kraton leaped from the treetops, weapon held high with the blood of his last victims shining crimson on the blade. Primal smacked the imp out of the air with a massive claw, and then picked him up off the ground.
â€REDCAP!†A great rage was held within Primal’s voice, “You and any others of your ilk who may someday exist shall never be able to stand before my Shamen or Druids. You and your kin are cursed from ever facing what you have lost.â€
The Redcap seemed frightened; he was no longer trying to gnaw through the god’s tree-like grasp out of hunger or even bloodlust, but out of fear.
â€You used to have the skills of a well trained hunter, now you fight like a rabid beast.â€
Primal started squeezing the Redcap by it's torso.
â€But know this Kraton,†vine-like markings started to radiate from the Redcap’s chest as he struggled to escape from Primal, â€I am not done with you yet, I make this promise to you: When the world grows dark and the fear you spread among the races is eclipsed by the evil that plagues all life on this rock, you shall return even greater then you where before and ascend to your rightful place by my side.â€
Primal suddenly let go of the Redcap and walked into the distance before disappearing from sight, the only sign that he had been there was a single mark on the Redcap’s chest; a seed that resembled an orc’s head.
I now make this promise to all life that inhabits this rock and the endless dark above: The mightiest tree in the black forest shall be the salvation of all.
Somewhere in the world an old orc smiles and a lost hero forgets his hunger for just a moment.
The Solar watched the world, and was pleased and -- oddly -- disconnected. The sun shone upon the pebble and its inhabitants. As it should. The people made fires to hold back the darkness. As they should. Was the Solar's work truly done?
Solar watched as the other Gods twisted and shaped the inhabitants of the planet to their own ends. Demigods and heroes and monsters and races sprung up, all around. Idly, the Solar toyed with the idea of a race that waxed and waned in strength with the sun's rays, before discarding it in frustration.
Bah.
For a time, the Solar brooded in his observatory, watching the spin of the stars through the universe. Idly he flicked a couple of glowing orbs and they exploded in a fairly satisfying fashion. The Solar smiled as their heat coursed back into him.
His problem, he realised was that he didn't really understand the world he'd helped to create. The Sar and the Salamanders weren't really much for conversation, after all.
The Solar hesitated for a moment.
Then he shrugged his star-spanning shoulders.
He looked down at the planet, and located a newborn baby. Scooping its consciousness from its head and setting it safely aside, he inserted a tiny fraction of his own awareness into its now vacant body.
The Solar opened his eyes and smiled at his new family.
The Saint Asher, Youngest of the Gods, who was borne not from a Celestial Egg but from the blood and pain and suffering of the creatures of the earth, spake unto the Preserveri and the Preserveri spake unto Him. Asher's words did not fall on deaf ears, nor did His wounds pass Verweren's sight unseen.
At His request, the Preserveri stretched forth its arms, and gathered the Saint Asher to its bosom, enwrapping Him in its caring, protective embrace. At its touch, His wounds ceased to bleed, and His bones began to mend. The power of the Storm held back at its countenance, beating fruitlessly at its serenity.
It extended forth its wings, and carried Asher up, and away. It took Asher's body from the madness of the Chaos Realms forthwith, and carried Him high, away, and past the small rock that was the mortal world, and into the Cradle, where only the gods may play.
And there before the Preserveri stood the figure of Verweren, a body of light that held no human feature. He waited as the Preserveri placed the body down, and watched down at the reclining form of the Saint as he healed even in His presence. And Verweren Spoke, His voice filling the Saint Asher's very spirit with the protective guidance and care that was Verweren's existence.
"Unto You hath my Preserveri come, to deliver You from the doom of Chaos. Unto You my power hath come, delivering Your form from the pain that hath been inflicted. And unto You, I hath given Mine protection to seek this Cradle of Godhood, so that You might speak Your words unto Me. What are Your Words, Asher, Brother and Child? Of what would You Speak?"
And so he waited for the young god's Word, knowing that Word shaped Being, and that this meeting, the First of its kind, would determine the Turnings to come...
Saint Asher stood in awe of his Elder, the one known as Verweren... he felt a light that was unlike anything he had known in the cold wastes of Aesho, or the Mortal Plane.
I come to you, Lord Verweren, not upon my own behalf, said St. Asher as he bowed low. I have come to ask of you a gift for Men, mortal beings of the world below.
They are capable of so much, my Lord. They have the capacity for great things. I have tried my best to protect them in battle, with the virtues of noble combat... but it is not enough. I have brought great justice upon the most evil of beings, yet the people I have sought to protect have suffered greatly. I... I have failed them, my Lord.
I beseech of you a gift that I may bear to Men. The protective power I felt in the healing hands of your servant... the Gift of Mercy. Would I could bear it to Men, that they may be protected from Evil.
Saint Asher looked up, his face marked with sincerity as much as it was with scars.
Teach me Mercy, Lord Verweren, that I may protect all Mortals.
Hitok the Blind found himself in a field of flowers. Flowers of every color of imaginable, and some the orc had never seen before. The only thing the flowers had in common was the same dark centre. Above him, the sky was sea of blue. Creatures of enormous length and size flew through the sky, with grace not fitting their size.
I've been here before..Where exactly here was, Hitok didn't know. The orc had dreamed of this place, and suspected as much that he was dreaming right now. Ever since his sight had been robbed by the crows, he had seen this place in glimpses. With every vision he had of the future, there was the glimpse of these flowers.
"Primal, is it your realm I find myself in?" Hitok whispered, but found his voice echoing as if he shouted. A cold fear gripped him as the sky suddenly darkened. In a wave, the flowers petals changed to the color of fire. The orcs eyes widened as a tree erupted from the field, deadless and huge.
Strange, intricate markings lined the bark. Thin lines formed patterns that criss-crossed the trunk and every branch of the tree. Thes lines softly glowed with a faint light. No leaves hung from the branches that Hitok could see, as the rest dissapeared above the clouds. Fear crept up Hitok's spine as he watched three huge crows descend from the clouds.
Six eyes watched Hitok as he stood frozen in place, as each crow claimed a branch.
"This land does not belong to beast or plant, orc.." One crow spoke, but three voices left it's beak. "Hitok the Blind, do you know me?"
Hitok the Blind could see where the herds could be found, and what dangers his tribe would face in the future. He could see into the realms of the dead and beesech the lost for their knowledge. The gods themselves could not hide from his sight, yet Hitok did not reconize the crows before him.
"I am The Taibreamh.." The crow spoke again, with three voices. "We are three and one."
"What do you want of me?" Hitok had never heard of the name before.
"You see beyond what eyes can see. You bear my gift." The crow took a moment to preen it's feathers, leaving Hitok a moment to wonder what kind of god he had stumbled upon. "Orcish prophet, our gift is not without a price. You shall see all the possible futures, and understand the destinies that form from them. The memory of the beginning will be yours, and you will see the end. Age will cease to take it's toll on you, yet all you will know is rest. For generations, the world will pass you bye as you sleep. You will sleep the centuries away, as you dream of the future."
The crows descended on him, before he could move or even speak. For a moment, the horror of the moment overtook him as memories overwhelmed him. Yet there was no pain as the dream world went dark, as the two crows that spoke plucked out his eyes with delicate care. He felt sleep overtake him, as the soft voice of The Taibreamh whispered in his ears.
"For now, lead your people, and walk the earth for your god. Spread the name of Primal and share his gifts. Teach orc and man both of Primal, and The Taibreamh. I will come for you soon.."
As Tara'lar watches its siblings gift things to their creations, an anguish rises up inside the god, sending a chill through the night. The "good" of Asher and the Preserveri shone over the Sphere, but all things must be in balance and Tara'lar, creator of secrets, knew what was to come. The god waited.
One of ten flies between the trees of a cold night, its aura taunting that which lies below. As it flies, the lush forest suddenly changes. Barren land, spotted with cracked and withered trees goes for as far as the newthing's eyes might see. Shadowy creatures scramble around the edge of the land, the vastness of the barren space seeming to increasing with their stride.
The child of Verweren pauses, floating gently to the ground behind a group of the things and watches them. As they touch the edge of the forest, the plants shrivel and die and the animals unlucky enough to stay around crack and crumple into piles of ash. Just as the Preserveri turns to face the nearest of the creatures, dark tentacles fly out from somewhere in the darkness, coiling the creature in a mighty grasp. It's mouth opens to scream, but is staunched by the mass of writhing tentacles. More and more tentacles swarm around it, and yank it through into the nothingness.
Tara'lar watches the creature's pleading gaze as it is pulled into the Ak'tar, its hand reaching out for a saviour. So quick to learn fear.
And so the Saint Asher came unto Verweren, and spake His request, and Verweren was pleased, for the Word of Asher was indeed the Will of Verweren.
And Verweren Spoke.
"Brother and Child, Your Word hath been Spoken, and thus You have defined Your Purpose. You will be the agent of Your twin Purpose on this World."
The Body that was Verweren extended a shining hand to point at the world, visible from the Cradle at Verweren's Will.
"Asher, the Saint of Mankind, so shall You be Known. Asher, the Defender of the Weak, so shall You be Known. Asher, Healer of the Sick, so shall You be Known. Asher, the Light to turn back the Dark, so shall You be Known. Unto thee I give My Lore. Unto Thee, I share My secrets. Unto Thee, I gift Knowledge."
And of the divine power of Verweren, the personification of guardianship, the smallest part became unto a circle of Light, extended in the palm of the outstretched arm. And Verweren extended that palm to Asher, inviting Him to partake of Verweren's knowledge, to See the universe as Verweren had Seen it. To Know the universe as Verweren had Known it. And to Become the Purpose, as Verweren had become it.
In that single brief moment that Asher's hand touched Verweren's, Asher's wounds were healed, as if they had never been. His bones re-knitted themselves, as if they had never been broken. And in that instant, Asher's eyes glowed with a holy light, and in that instant, He Saw.
When Asher recovered from His Awakening, He was laid upon the world, clad in the flesh of a man. And before him, in the earth, stood His Broken Sword, the blade with which He had fought Evil.
"And Behold, O Asher, My Brother and My Child, that which You carried into battle and which was destroyed, so have I returned unto You. I have gifted You with My Knowledge and My Purpose, Asher, My Brother and My Child. Do with it what You Will."
And the Voice of Verweren fell silent in Asher's ears, and the Spirit of Verweren grew dim in Asher's mind. Until Asher stood alone on the broken and sorrowful place where first the Natterlings came to Be. On that very spot, reconsecrated by Verweren's Touch and Asher's presence, Asher stood now with his Unbroken Blade and the Knowing that Verweren had given him.
And All that Was and All that Would Be stilled for a single instant, at the instant that the youngest of the Gods truly Became...
A Reading from The Book of Solar, Number Two, Sing The Risen Son.
Chapter 4:
And so it came to pass that the God Solar
The First under Eternity,
Shadowscourge and Firegiver,
The Shattered Ender,
Came to live among the People of the World.
And He was born in a small Village
That has no name
O Holy home of The Solar
Inside the Great Desert
O Holy Emptiness!
And it is said that He grew quickly
In Stature
In Understanding
In Knowledge
And that by the end of His first year in the world
He was as a Young Man.
And in those days of miracles and of turmoil
Such an event
Passed without comment
And He lived among them
And He learned of the world that He had helped make.
And as He grew, He questioned the wise of the village
About the Earth
About Humanity
About the Gods above
And particularly about the God Solar, as He was not without Pride.
And the Elders shook their heads and told Him to ask of
Svedre who Sleeps in the Seas or
Cable the Thief-God or
Primal the Creator of Life but
Not of Solar, for He was counted as Dead.
"Ask after the Taibreamh Who are Three or
Daevak or Saint Asher or
Any of the Gods but The Solar
Who was Rent by Cable and Died;
Only the Sar and the Sun and the Salamandrim remain of the God-that-Was."
And they spat on the ground to prevent the coming of the Fire-lizards
And they told Him to ask no more questions,
And the Solar felt the kindled flames of His rage,
And a small voice whispered in His ear, They have forgotten you.
And the Solar gathered together His will and
Would have destroyed the village,
His family,
And his hope for the future,
But He paused, and He looked, and He saw who had whispered in his ear.
He saw it, and by the light of the Son was it revealed.
And He spoke then, and He said, Come to me, Natterling, and know that I am God.
And the Natterling came, and the village was amazed,
To see the great Demigod cowering before a Boy
For they still did not Know the Solar-child.
And the Solar spoke then, and He said, Natterling, do you aught but spread fear and dissension?
And the Natterling spoke and said, No Lord, for that is my purpose.
And the Solar said NO MORE.
And the Solar spoke then, and said, You shall be the first.
And the Will of the God struck,
And the Solar spoke again, and said, You will go forth and whisper in ears, but no longer speak your poison.
Whisper to the people encouragements and joys.
Whisper to the people of the beauty of the world.
Whisper to them of the pleasures of goodness.
Whisper to them of the Light of the World.
Tell the world of My birth. Tell them that the Solar walks the Earth.
And the people of the village fell down on their faces before the Risen Son.
And the Word of Solar's birth went from that place
O Holy Village!
Like fire in the Wickwood groves it spread,
And the world changed,
As it always does.
So ends the Reading. May the warmth of the Sun comfort you always.
Far to the west, the jungles of Hutan were godless lands.
There were no legends of Saint Asher passed among the small tribes of the land. They did not know the glorious touch of Solar, or the fairy queen, Cable. Here, the humans that lived within the jungles knew only fear, death, and war. They knew weakness. Those who were weak were left behind, exiled, or killed outright. There could be no room for weakness in the tribes of the vast jungles. Blood was the milk they were raised on, and strife was all they knew.
Hutan only knew Natterling.
Many godlings had fled en masse to the continent. There, they continued their endless battles. Here, Nuthugga was consumed by the foul Ranjiniae, who resembled a horde of vermin with one single intelligence. The mammoth bones of Nuthugga still stand, a grim reminder of the chaos that consumed the continent.
Hidimva cut a swath of destruction through the jungle, consuming all in cannibalistic rage. Zizatza carved out a new empire, declaring himself king, while Black Sainglan fought endlessly for ever more power.
There was a strangeness to the lands, however. The land itself seemed to fight back against the intruders. Ranjiniae was consumed by the jungle itself, dissapearing into the earth and swallowed whole. The vermin that live out a pitiful life on the floor of the jungle are said to possess parts of his shattered mind. The tribes pass legends that one day, Ranjiniae will be reborn. Hidimva cut his way to the south, when his rage suddenly died away. He fell, not by the hand of any Natterling, but by some unknown source. The jungle overtook his slumbering form, drawing him into the earth as it did to Ranjiniae before. The destruction left in his wake healed overtime.
Zizatza flew north, all but abandoning his new kingdom as he watched Natterling fall one by one. Black Saingland followed him, said to have run across the oceans, laughing maniaclly as he did so, hearing the promise of more power in the frozen north. Hutan was forgotten by the fleeing Natterlings, yet the continent remembered them. The jungles continued to grow, while the wildlife that survived the chaos of the godlings changed. They grew in size and intelligence. Hutan had become a twisted reflection of Cable's dream, a nightmarish land.
The tribes survive, while the beasts continue to hunt. Hutan, where no god or godling is welcome, only knows strife.
Once again rousing himself from his solitude, the Eternal considered the Earth once more. It was still possible for the grand design he had foreseen to be carried out. Parts of the Tapestry remained – the humans, the other intelligent species of the world, the animals and plants that had survived the Natterling incursion. He would simply have to guide things towards the final design himself.
In the Eternal's visions, chief components of the Design had been heroes – mighty mortals who walked alongside the gods and influenced and directed those below them. These heroes would not arise in peacetime – only conflict could give rise to the spirits needed, and only strife could forge them into what they must be.
Accordingly, the Eternal reached out his hand over the Earth, past the shattered islands which dotted the sea and into the centermost continent of the world. Here, deep in the mountains, laired Ogegya, one of the last and greatest of the Natterlings. Her nails were iron, her teeth stone; she appeared so ghastly that to look upon her was to drop dead from fright. To Ogegya the Eternal came, and he invested her with his will. "Wretched one, hear me now. Your days of crawling in the mountains, bereft of dignity and purpose, feasting upon the bones of carrion, are over. You are to become the great mother, spawner of monsters. Alone and with others of your kind you will birth mighty and terrible creatures to bring ruin upon the later ages. Never again will you gnaw upon bare bones in your cave; you will grow fat upon the carcasses brought to you by your children, and rule the wilderness as a god on Earth."
Having said such, the Eternal departed. The monsters which Ogegya spawned, he planned, would be the heat which forged the heroes of the civilised races – heroes who would then lead their people to greatness.
And so it came to pass that once more, monsters sped across the face of the world. Fear and Pain and Death grew strong amongst man, and though the nine remaining Preserveri were powerful, they were indeed limited. And Verweren Saw this, and Knew that there must be resolution. There must be a response.
And He Knew that while His servants, the Preserveri, were capable and powerful, they yet lacked any will to act without his guidance. Through this lack of will was one snared by one of Verweren's own brothers, its essence lost forever during a single moment of the God's distraction with the Saint Asher. And Verweren Knew that this Could Not Be.
And so it became that He called to Himself his nine Preserveri, and He Spoke unto them, and His Word became Truth.
"You are my children, my Preserveri, and I love thee. But though you are mighty and strong, you are naught but an expression of my will. As I Speak now unto you, you must cast off the chains that shackle your sentience, and grow to be true beings. Bound by My Will you may always be, but from this day forth to the end of eternity, you are given the gift of Awareness, and thus you gain Responsibility."
And so it became that the Preserveri became true beings, able to act under their own will and under their own power, though they were still eternally bound to their purpose. And so it was that Verweren spoke to them again, and instructed them to go forth, with His blessings. And He sent them forth.
Unto Man, children of the planet, came three, and they Spoke His Words in unison.
"Man hath come to be, and Man hath known Life. Amongst the Many that populate your world, Terror and Pain and Death come in great numbers, and seek only to destroy your divine essence, that of Life. Unto you, we, the children of Verweren, He Who Stands, He Who Protects, have come. Unto you we shall give the gifts of Salvation. Unto you, we shall give the gift of Warding. And unto you, we shall give the gifts of Hope."
The three Preseveri spread their wings, and blocked out, for a single moment, the radiance of Solar, in these people's eyes. And the people felt fear as the darkness covered them. Amongst the many who stood before them, some turned to comfort others, and these the first Preserveri spoke to.
"Unto you, those who would give comfort even in the face of thine own fear, we give the power of Salvation. We will teach you to protect and to comfort and to heal those around you, to better keep the good alive inside of you. You will be the Salveri."
Amongst the crowd there were those who looked to the darkness and gathered their meager weapons to themselves, watching for the beasts that came in the night, the monsters that stole away mother and brother and child alike. To these, the second Preserveri spoke.
"Unto you, those who would stand fast even in the face of thine own fear, we give the power of Warding. We will teach you to guard and defend and stand with those around you, to better keep the evils of the world from destroying you. You, will be the Warderi."
And then, to the rest of the gathered peoples, those who had stayed within the protective circle of the newly-crowed Warderi and who had been comforted by the words of the now-styled Salveri, the third of the Preserveri spoke.
"Unto you, those who were overcome by fear and know only pain, we give the gift of Hope, in the form of your bretheren. The Warderi will stand fast against the darkness, and the Salveri will heal and guard your souls. Verweren gives unto Man these gifts, the greatest of all gifts, merely from His love for Man's existence. As He has given us Awareness, so we give you in His name these gifts. Use our gifts and your race shall live. Spurn our gifts, and your race shall die."
And the three Preserveri once again closed their wings and the sun shone once more over this village, and the people looked to these angels with reverence and awe, and the Preserveri spoke to them once more, and began to teach them their duties and their responsibilities to their people.
And so it was that the first true chapter of Man's ascendance came to pass.
As the longest night of the year came to a close, so to did the biannual gathering of the orcish leaders. The various Chieftains, Shamans, and Shamankas began to rise so they could rest for the long journey the next night. Hitok (who had returned to the orcish homeland several months ago) had not said a word during the gathering; he had not and still did not move. No one had bothered the old orc because they knew of the trances he would sometimes spend hours if not days in.
Suddenly Hitok spoke, “Sit down, this meeting is not yet over.”
The other orcs sat back down. The Shaman where curious, some of the Chieftains where annoyed that they had to listen to the ramblings of an old man instead of go to sleep, but they too stayed.
“Great Primal and I have been speaking for sometime, and we have come to a decision.”
The other orcs sat quietly and listened, knowing that Hitok would say what he had to say when he said it and no sooner.
“Another branch of the religion is to be opened, and I am to be the leader of it. To join the branches of Beast and Plant is the Branch of Gods.”
The Shaman seemed amazed and the Chieftains seemed confused.
“The Branch of the Gods is to work towards the knowledge of the other gods and their religions.”
A young Shaman spoke up, “But why do we need this new Branch?”
Hitok looked at the young orc (as best he could) and then said, “This Branch is to learn about other gods and their religions and deal with any conflicts that may arise between us and them. The Branch of Gods also holds the duty of studying the types of godlings known as “Natterlings”.”
A Chieftain known as Ertguth the Scarred stood up and bellowed, “We don’t need this new Branch, if the other worshipers cause trouble we will crush them. The other races are weak and any orc that follows their religions are as weak as them!”
Hitok raised a hand and silenced the raging Chieftain and spoke once more, “Religion is like a wild animal, if you know it you can learn to live with it, and if you cannot live with it then knowing its traits will make killing it easier.”
At this Ertguth seemed to calm done slightly, though he still seemed somewhat angry.
Hitok lifted himself from the ground and spoke once more before leaving the hut, “One last thing, members of the Branch of Gods are allowed to worship one other god besides Primal, this will allow a greater insight into other gods, religions, and even our own religion; because do we not all draw nourishment from Svedre waters or Rashiid’s air?”
Ojah polished one of the great mirrors that had become the centre of the burgeoning town of Solaris. The vast plate of metal gleamed dully in the pre-dawn gloom. Ojah worked quickly -- not to be finished his task when the Heart of Solar raged over the eastern horizon was tantamount to suicide. Only yesterday had he seen the tremendous fury of these mirrors turned upon an unfortunate.
The day had promised to dawn clear. In the Desert of the Sun, this was not altogether unusual. The two accused murderers had been brought, arms and legs tied securely, and left in the center of the scorching grounds. The sun was about to rise.
One of the priests had pointed at one of the men and had read the accusation.
"This man stands accused of darkest murder -- of stabbing and killing his wife, contrary to the laws set down by the Risen Son!"
The crowd, Ojah included, had screamed their rage at the affront to the Risen Son's Will.
The Priest had pointed at the second man.
"This man stands accused of foulest theft -- of stealing three sheep from his neighbour, contrary to the laws set down by the Risen Son!"
The crowd had howled once more, and then the Priest had motioned them to silence.
"Let the Risen Son be their judge, and let us abide forever according to his Will!"
The crowd, as was customary, fell silent and turned to the East -- where the furnace of Solar's Rage was rising.
Slowly, slowly, the sun had crept clear of the horizon. The only sound had been the feeble whimpers of the accused. Suddenly, the sun was up. The rays of the God had struck the carefully arranged and angled mirrors and bounded down towards the patch of half-melted sand where the two accused men were lying.
The thief had begun to scream and writhe as small flames burst into existence from his clothing, and blisters formed immediately on his skin. By the time his eyes boiled and burst, and his hair ignited, he was probably already dead. Soon there had been little left except a patch of greasy ash. The crowd screamed its approval.
The accused murderer, by contrast, lay nearby, gibbering in terror but completely unharmed. The rays of the mirrored sun had beaten down upon him, but he had felt them not. The Will of the Solar was clear. Long sticks were used to angle the mirrors skyward, and guards rushed forwards. Bringing the accused gently to his feet, they had used bronze knives to cut his bonds.
The Priest had spoken.
"The Will of the Risen Son! This man is innocent, and let no one speak otherwise! Guards, begin the search for the true murderer immediately. Todays Judgement is complete!"
It had been a good morning.
Ojah realized that he had been daydreaming and got back to polishing the mirror. There was another Judgement today, after all.
The men who followed Asher prospered under his guidance and his strength, overcoming many adversities. So too did the young god grow to maturity, his powers from birth in Aesho and gifts of Verweren growing.
Perhaps it was Verweren's gifts that were the greatest contributor to his apotheosis, for they opened his heart to feel compassion. Asher felt a close kinship to Men... like them, he was an accidental creation. He loved their ingenuity, and the passion with which they lived their short lives. And he came to love a woman, known as Mayadryn.
The lives of men were short, and Mayadryn's even shorter, for she died young. With golden tears Asher realized that man's gift of death possessed great sadness as well. And he realized that like his wife, his followers who died following his lead needed him as well, stranded as their souls were on cold Aesho.
In her memory, Asher built a great palace, a fortress to guard the tomb where her body would lay to rest. In time his followers would build a city around the White Palace, that holiest of places that held the relics of Mayadryn.
Their children, twin boys, were still quite young, only teenagers. They had their father's strength, his moral fiber, and strong will. Asher took them to their mother's tomb to pay respect to her, as they often did. But this occasion was different, their father more serious and somber than usual when near his wife's grave.
My sons, Arthiel and Argus... on this day I must leave you to join your mother on Aesho, the place of my birth. Remember us always, and never forget what you have been taught. You will be great leaders of men, and your Bloodline will run strong in these lands. You must give hope to Men in times of hopelessness, and lead them to glory even in the darkest of hours. Long may you live before you join me in the next world.
The Sons of Asher set their jaws and saluted their father, as the oneness of his body and soul disappeared in a nimbus of golden light. They swore to each other an oath of allegiance to honor their father and bring glory to the race of Men.
Arthiel and Argus built a great statue of Asher in the entrace to the White Palace, that stood upon a great rock, in which the following words were carved:
I will defend the innocent from the ravages of Evil.
I will liberate the enslaved from the clutches of Tyrrany.
I will bring light to darkness, and hope to all Men.
I will bring justice to foul deeds, and mercy to transgressors.
By the blood in my veins, I shall swear to this Oath.
By the Will of Asher, I shall suffer none to defy it.
Thus began the Bloodline of Asher, sworn to protect men to the End of Days.
The God of Paladins looked down upon the world from Aesho, where he gathered his troops and carved out a place of the barren wastes where they would prosper under the rule of he and Mayadryn. He was pleased.
((For future reference: Men descended from the Line of Asher may be considered either Aasimar or use the Celestial Bloodline variant from Unearthed Arcana.))
General Davus looked upon planes that seemed to go on forever from the battlements of Fort Mecharsta. Fort Mecharsta was a crude dwelling, hewn poorly together from logs and stone, but for General Davus’ people it was one of their greatest feats of architecture.
Suddenly, Davus’ thoughts where interrupted by a messenger, “General,” said the messenger as he saluted, “The scouts have returned.”
Davus faced the messenger and said, “Stand at ease. What do they have to report?”
The messenger hesitated a moment before responding, “Ah, well, they said they found a large lake many, many miles away from hear.”
“A lake?” Said General Davus, he raised one eyebrow and then said, “Anything else?”
“Ah, yes. They also found a fortress. A fortress made of trees,” responded the messenger.
“You mean it’s constructed from wood correct?” Asked General Davus.
“No sir, according to the scouts it was a large fortress made up off large, intertwining trees, earth, and other assorted matter.” Said the messenger.
“And these trees where alive.” Asked General Davus.
“According to the scouts, yes.” Responded the messenger.
Davus put a hand to his head and sighed.
“Summon the scouts, I would like to speak to them personally.”
The messenger saluted and said, “Yes sir!” before going off to summon the scouts.
***
“Are you sure it’s him? I thought he died decades ago; he has to be pushing 200 by now.” Said General Davus.
“Yes sir, I saw him with my own eyes and theirs no doubt in my mind that it’s Van. Theirs more too, he said something about our current path leading to our destruction and our way not being the way of Primal.” Said Captain Horace.
“Hmm, I think we should handle this with diplomacy rather then force, it wouldn’t be right to kill the founder of your nation. I’ll call a meeting and try and set something up. Go and send a messenger to let the leaders know I’m coming, and then tell the head servant to get everything ready. While I’m gone Brigadier Manus is to be in charge,” said General Davus.
Captain Horace saluted and said “Yes sir.” Before going off to dispense the General’s orders.
Ojah Starfriend opened the Sanctum doors and approached the Risen Son. As always, when he drew near to the Avatar, he began to sweat and his fingers began to tremble. The presence of God was a palpable thing, here. The force of the Solar's being caused the very air to ripple -- as if the world itself was constantly being redrawn around the deity.
The Solar was staring out of the western window into the depths of the setting sun. The divine equivalent of navel-gazing, thought Ojah -- before his mind shuddered back from the heresy it had just conjured up. The Solar turned towards his servant, and regarded him.
Ojah's mind was gently flattened and examined, tenderly reconstituted and then the vast presence withdrew itself. The Solar smiled, and Ojah nearly collapsed in extasy.
I Am Not Without Humour, Ojah.
"I know, my Lord, I know."
I Do Not Have A Navel -- So I Make Do.
"Yes Lord." Ojah wondered if this was a joke or not. The Solar's sense of humour was inhuman -- as was fitting, he supposed.
I Have Called You Here, Ojah, To Say Goodbye.
Ojah dropped to the floor and nearly sobbed. "Why Lord? Have I displeased you? If my blood would propitiate your Divine wrath, please allow me to..."
The Solar raised a hand. Arise, Ojah. I Am Well Pleased By Your Devotion. Your Blood Will Not Be Necessary. I Require Only Your Service -- Although Your Task Will Require The Span Of Your Life.
"Gladly, Lord. What do You require?"
You Will Be My Prophet. I Give You As Your Servants the Sar SOL And The Salamander AR. They Are My Right And My Left Hand, As You Are My Mouth. Spread My Message. Carry My Word To The World. Teach The People Of The Rage And The Love Of The Sun. As Wickwood Carries Flame, Carry Truth.
The Solar stood, and the Light of the world burned in his eyes.
Farewell, Ojah. My Gaze Will Be Upon You, And My Ears Open To Your Prayers.
"I will do as you say, Lord. But ... where will you go? Why is this happening?"
I Return To The Stars. The World Cannot Long Bear The Strain Of My Presence In So Concentrated A Form. I Return. I Depart. Farewell.
And the God was gone, and Ojah was alone.
In the East, two lights grew from the darkness. Sol and Ar raced to do their Master's bidding.
Far away from the great ocean, where Svedre had been busying himself with matters both infinitely large and infinitely small, men were dwelling in their villages. These beings didn't seem to register with Svedre, being caught somewhere in that boring middle ground of existance, between the molecule and the star. That was until they caught Svedre's attention.
It had become a seasonal tradition amongst the small tribe that called themselves the Hafri. The Driving of the Herd. Livestock was so plentiful on the plains surrounding the Hafri that waste was something that did not concern them. After the best livestock were pulled from the wild herds to be bred or slaughtered the remaining cattle were seen as little more than an opportunity for some entertainment. The ritual has existed as long as even the eldest could remember. Not continuing it was simply not an option.
Dressed in blood-dyed clothes the young Hafri men decorated themselves with the long, golden feathers of the Maja Bird and chalked their faces a ghostly white. Long, thin horn in one hand, thick wooden stick in the other. The Hafri population had grown each year and now they numbered in the thousands. Gathered in a long line they faced the rejected beasts who grazed, oblivious to the upcoming events.
The herd, as well, was larger than ever. Even with the extra cattle taken to feed the booming population hundreds or thousands remained. A horn sounded. Thousands replied. The charge began.
Svedre stirred. Something new was happening. A new current. A new tidal force. A new flowing energy had sprung into existance and Svedre absorbed it. Svedre became it. He looked onto this new energy and saw that these hideous lifeforms were causing it. Thousands of them moving as an ocean wave. Gliding off eachother like bubbles in a stream. Surging along, many as one.
The Alistair Varick stood before the Citadel of the Guardian with a sense of awe that overcame his senses every time he beheld it. Even after all of his years with the Warderi, even after rising to the highest post within the structure of the Guardians, he could not help but feel his breath catch in his throat when he beheld it in its entirety.
The Citadel was at once an impregnable fortress and a shrine to its patron. Its inhabitants were living monuments to the Word of Verweren that moved them all. Every stone built into its walls, every statue that graced its streets, every cobble in every road, all of them were built as testament to the God of Guardians.
The entire city was encircled by three great walls, an outer ring, an inner curtain wall, and a final bastion. The outermost wall was forty feet in height, with towers topping that by another twenty. The second wall was fifty feet, with towers reaching eighty. And the final bastion walls were a hundred feet tall and three times as thick as either of the other two, with eight massive towers whose eternal signal fires could be seen for miles. These everburning flames were known alternately as either the Eyes of Verweren or the Beacons of Hope, and it was well known that there was no need to fear any harm within their sight.
The keep within the final bastion stood almost on height with the great towers, and were topped by three massive statues of titanic winged figures facing outwards, their wings and arms spread in an protective guesture, a tribute to the three Preserveri who landed on the very spot that the bastion was built years later.
As Varick approached the inner keep, he paused to reflect on the two stone statues that stood flanking the great doorway, another two winged figures. On the right of the doorway was the Warder, with the Words of the Protector carved into it. The words were simple.
Guard Thy Charge Always.
The other figure was the Saviour, and its words were equally simple.
Tend Those In Need.
These were the Commands of Verweren, and their meanings formed the core of the Warderi and the Salveri's doctrines.
Varick was followed by his counterpart, Elisha, Josai of the Salveri, to the great doors to the keep, and together they stood, making their devotions before entering. Elisha was to the Salveri what Varick was to the Warderi, a leader and an elder. Together, they led both the priesthood of Verweren and the two holy orders of the Warderi, the Guardian-Knights, and the Salveri, the Healers. Together, they dealt with matters both spiritual and mundane, their day-to-day lives filled with the joy of service to Verweren, and the bond that had formed between them.
Varick was known as a great warrior, unparalleled in combat by any enemy he had yet to meet. He had risen through the ranks of the Warderi by tempering his skill at arms with the wisdom of his years. Even now, clad in the vestments of his rank, Varick was ready to stand to the last breath in his body should Verweren's Will guide him to it.
Elisha was no less well known, and no less well loved, though for very different reasons. She was a gentle hand, and a warm smile, eternally willing to take on the burdens of others and share them. Nothing ever seemed to draw any anger from Elisha, she seemed always posessed of a serenity born of a primal connection to her faith.
And so it would always be, throughout the generations. The greatest and wisest warrior of the Warderi would take on the title of Alistair, the Defender of Men. The Alistair would eternally be matched with the Josai, the exemplar of the Salveri, and together, they would lead the Chosen of Verweren in the defense of life wherever Verweren's reach touched.
And Verweren looked down upon this, and He knew that for now, at least, He was not needed. And thus, after an eon of care, Verweren rested, trusting to the Preserveri, the Salveri, and the Warderi to tend the world as He slept...
KrataLightblade on
LEVEL 50 SWORD JUGGLER/WIZARD!
0
INeedNoSaltwith blood on my teethRegistered Userregular
edited May 2007
Cable took soft steps over the rooftops of Solaris, such that she might not wake the inhabitants that slept within. Her awkward big fingers carried a tiny box, a faerie-sized box that her child-sized fingers nearly swallowed whole. She wasn't the first deity to walk amongst the men, and probably wouldn't be the last, either, but it was sort of fun, so she did it. She moved deftly, and she was fleet of foot such that anyone might be awed, and from rooftop to rooftop she ran and she leapt, moving forever forward, marching to her destination ... she moved to the Solar's great temple, under the eyes of the staring guards, clutching her tiny box tightly to her breast.
Perhaps the temple was guarded well, by priests and soldiers alike, but Cable was not an ordinary little girl, and she was not stopped (or likely even seen) by the men who stood watch over the sun god's place of worship.
It was late, very late, and most were in bed, but the priest did not sleep, the priests were so busy; even now, he tended to the chapel, and Cable spoke when she caught his eye.
"Your lord has become greedy in his power," she told him, "and you were the vessel which carried him from his grace. He holds your hands as if you were lost children, carries you through your lives that you might never live for yourselves."
And the priest stared at her, and he opened his mouth to shout at the child but found his voice gone. She continued.
"It is your choice, as mortals, to do as you please, and perhaps you are pleased to be pawns -- we expected so much more from you, though." She shook her head, an exaggerated gesture. "I've come to ensure the safety, I suppose, of my domain.
"It is my belief, you see," and now the Priest was stricken not only mute but paralyzed, "that even a criminal deserves opportunity to retone, that not even a murderer should be stricken of his hope. Your reliance on your god to handle even your matters of justice -- I am disgusted." She spat on the floor, a shimmering, translucent rainbow saliva, and continued: "Solar, your god, he is my brother, and I love him so dearly, but I mean to show him -- and you -- that mortals are not meant to be served so by their lords. You will learn to handle your own matters of law and order, and you will not bother my brother anymore to do such petty things for you -- and perhaps," she speaks softly, "You will not be so quick to strip a man of his hope."
Cable opens the tiny box; inside, a great flame spins and crackles. "This is your lord Solar; the stories are true, and at the beginning of time, I hurt him. I stole from him. Would you boil me alive?"
She throws the box to the ground; while perhaps in the great desert very little would burn, Cable had brought the stolen fires of Solar to them, and the temple erupted in flame; the sand burst into flame; and the fires carried, carried through the night.
Arthiel was deep in prayer when he felt it... it was a subtle shift... but one he could not ignore. He rose from his altar and strode down the great marble steps within the White Palace. He saw that his brother, Argus, was already in full military dress, giving orders to his subordinates.
"You have felt it too, I see," said Arthiel.
"Yes. The world moves, my brother. Somewhere to the west. Where once our father hunted the Natterlings, so too shall I lead our men to battle. I shall lead a contingent of my troops east to the Silver Coast, and then take another force from there to the West."
"I shall remain here, Argus. The borders of these lands seem to be teeming with Orcs of late... particularly the forests to the South."
There was a long pause as the Sons of Asher looked at one another in silence.
"You shall not return."
"I know, brother. I have seen it too."
"May His Blessing be with you, Argus."
"And you, Arthiel."
Argus departed for the Western Lands with his men in great ships, their white sails emblazoned with the Sword of Asher. Long had they sailed before the Western Lands came into sight. Argus quickly made his way to the deck from his quarters when he heard the call from the riggings above.
"Is it land, Captain?" he asked, approaching the fore of the ship.
"No General... look."
On the horizon, a great flame burned... visible even in the early hours of dawn. It must have been more than a hundred leagues away, but bright and powerful.
"We sail for the flame, Captain."
"Yes, sir."
Though Argus knew not the nature of this flame, he knew it must be part of the shift he felt in the earth... he knew that destiny lay ahead, though he knew not what would come to pass. As his fleet moved ever Westward, the code that was taught him by his father passed his lips, almost involuntarily.
"I will liberate the enslaved from the clutches of Tyrrany.... I will bring light to darkness, and hope to all Men."
The pillar of fire winked out of existence. While Cable had been present, the god-fire had burned out of control. As soon as the thief-God had disappeared, however, the fire had been... simply a fire. If there was one thing that the Priests of Solar were equipped and prepared to deal with, it was fire.
Their combined and co-ordinated prayers had shaped the conflagration, forcing it back and in and up and up -- a finger of flame pointing accusingly at the heavens. The hand of Solar reached down, and the heat was Returned.
Ojah looked out over what remained of the city. The great mirrors were warped and melted, an entire quarter of the city mere ash, thousands dead. Ojah fell to his knees and prayed to his God.
What else was there for him to do in the face of the Enemy?
Elsewhere
Hear me, Cable. Your interference was unwanted, unwelcome, unnecessary. Twice now you have struck at Me. The first time you sundered my very form, separating self from self. Then, I stayed my hand. Now we see what my mercy has been repaid with.
No More.
I lay my curse upon you, Cable. You and yours are Anathema to me and mine. Hide in your dreams, dear sister. Know This, and tell your followers for it applies to them too: Henceforth, the light of the sun will sear you to the bone. Fire shall not warm you on a cold night, nor light the way in darkness. My Salamandrim will hunt you and yours until the end of the earth. Your domain shall be endless scorched plains of glass. You are gone from my sight forever, Godling, and your people -- should anyone ever choose to follow you -- shall know my eternal emnity.
We are done here.
GrimmyTOA on
0
INeedNoSaltwith blood on my teethRegistered Userregular
edited May 2007
Cable, a tiny point, infinitely small before the everburning sun, and under his gaze naught but a shimmering mist of color everchanging, disagreed. Her body melted under his hate, but she was not deterred; she wore his curse like a badge of honor.
You are an infant, Solar, and those who follow you are forever crippled by your selfishness.
So bring your fire lizards to me! I will rip off their heads and I will devour them whole! Burn my forests and watch them rise again forever from the ashes! Do you think I am afraid of you? Do you think that I fear any man or god?
I fear nothing! I AM HOPE.
And then silence, and as the planet spun, Cable's sprites converged upon her, to her location at the very heart of Solaris (for what man or beast dared to evict the Faerie Queen?) Here she told them their due; they had been lax and lazy, but the time came now for them to work their way and ignite their own fires; to every home that night with child did a faerie go, each a butterfly glow in the night, imagination embodied like the rainbow, to give every infant soul hope, to give every child a faerie's sight; to the homes of the Priesthood and Nobility they went, to the homes of brickers and to the homes of untouchables, to the orphanages and the creches they went, one and one and one.
And every child under Solar's reign saw and understood the Children of Cable, and saw the slavery and hopelessness of their lives under his reign, but most importantly they knew; they knew there was Cable, the Goddess of Hope, and they knew that there was more than just the Solar; and while perhaps many would forget, for some there would always be a glimmer, and in these the truth would blossom, and they would stand against Solar's oppression, stand against a god who would boil alive any who displeased him.
And perhaps, perhaps in the morning all of these children, each and every one, would find their flesh seared from bone; and Cable mourned this possibility, but accepted it -- such is the truth of mortal life.
And Cable spoke again, to Solar: You are an infant, and I am disgraced to call you my brother. If faith is what you crave, then that is what I shall take, I shall take it from the very base of your people. I have been called the Thief God, dearest brat, and I shall live up to my name in all things if I must.
And when the sun, angry, the greatest beast of all, perhaps, but ever a beast and never a man, rose high into the sky, her faeries had gone, but Cable remained, Cable stood her ground to show these people that forever they could be slaves to the Solar, but for as long as they toiled under his tyranny, hope would survive.
Lightly did Verweren sleep, but he did not stir. Was he required? Time would tell.
Three by three they came to Him, three by three they spoke to Him. Nine voices, raised in unison, speaking out to the god of fire, speaking out to Him who was Solar, speaking as One.
"Unto Thee, Father of Fire, we have come. Unto Thee, Starmaker and Heatbringer, we speak. Unto Thee, Solar, Brother of He Who Stands Forth, we bring these words..."
The nine Preserveri spread wide their wings, and their many-as-one voice speaks forth once more.
"Thy brother sleeps, and in his slumber, hath left us to guard All That Is. Would You, Solar, giver of life, taker of life, so quickly bring the game to a halt?"
The Preserveri's hands stretched forth, entreating Solar to hear their words, to listen to their reason.
"Would Thy rage overtake Thy mind? Would Thy desire for vengeance destroy Thy sister? This Cannot Be."
Their wings stretched, hiding now the view of the world from the eyes of Solar, if only for a mere moment in time.
"Call back Thy Curse, God of Fire. To rescind Thy gift of warmth from Thine own children, as well as all others who would venerate imagination... to cull this world of Thought and Creation, that is not Thine. Our Father and Thine have decreed that this world Will Be."
The Preserveri's wings closed, once again shining the world with Solar's radiance, once again allowing Him to see that it was his very own work that he was destroying, the innocents and the children. Allowing Him to see that if He continued, it would be His own people who would die first.
"Call back Thy torment of burning, Brother of our Father. Call back Thy hatred and Thy rage. For no longer can we allow this wholesale slaughter. Blood you may gain, but naught else. We shall not allow it."
And three by three, the Preserveri descended once more to earth, leaving Solar to His thoughts. Three by three they spread their wings, shading Solar's own city from His eyes.
So long as Solar's curse stood, the Preserveri, filled with the power of their creator, would hide Solaris from His eyes. So long as Solar's rage burned openly, His own people would be hidden from Him.
The smoking city that was once Solaris and the shadow that hung over were portents of the suffering that was found there by the Asherites.
"We are too late," whispered Argus as he led his army to Solaris. The city was decimated, and what was left of its inhabitants were charred things that appeared to once be human.
The Son of Asher threw his sword to the ground and ran to the closest of these people, and saying a prayer to his father laid his hands upon her face, and the holy light filled her body... her wounds began to heal, and she shook violently as she gasped for breath.
"Paladins and Warpriests! Find all the survivors you can and heal them!" shouted Argus, smoothing her hair and holding her close to buffer the shock of returning from horrific pain. "Scouts! Move out from the epicenter and look for any sign of an enemy force. Report back to me on the hour! Soldiers! Secure what fortifications you can against any further attack... we will not allow these men to suffer more injustice!"
He looked down at the woman he held, as her senses began to return.
"Who," asked Argus in a soft voice, "Who has done this to your people? We are friends to all men, and shall defend you with our lives to keep you from harm."
The scouts saw the fire burning off in the distance, they embarked in its direction, they even braved the hated desert to reach the place where the fire burned. They saw before them the smoldering ruins of a city even greater then Agrin, they saw before them a weakened beast that they could consume and enslave to make themselves even greater then they were now.
The fastest messenger raced off towards the closest outpost for reinforcements. Primal's work would be done.
***
Far away on another continent, an ancient orc lay dreaming the ageless sleep he had fallen into years ago. Visions of the world drifted through his mind, visions of dark godlings terrorizing the land, visions of jeweled creatures far beneath the earth, visions of a great city-state consuming other lands as it struggled to survive a crippling famine of their own design.
This land was often in his dreams, but this time the nightmare he saw was enough to rouse even him from his deathlike sleep.
A group of Shaman who's job was to guard Hitok's tree-tomb where surprised to see him rise after all these years.
The was a great amount of confusion before Hitok spoke his commands, "Quiet, hear me now as I speak. You are to send our greatest warriors to Van's homeland. Your are to then split into two groups, the largest is to head towards Van's resting place, the smallest is to go and assist the humans who worship Solar. A crow will lead you to Van while an owl will lead you to the Solar's people."
Before the other Shaman could react, Hitok fell to the ground and back into the ageless slumber until his god's required his services once more.
The orcs did not know why this happened, but they knew what they must do.
"My Lord Argus," panted Captain Mathias, "News from the South!"
"What is it?" asked Argus tersely, still aiding his priests and paladins who tended to the casualties of Solaris.
"There are men moving in the south. They are armed but not skilled, I think. Easy for our rangers to track... they were as clumsy at hiding their scent and trail as a rabid animal. I am not sure how many there may be... but based upon their tracks and what movements I was able to ascertain... they are ill-trained for warfare."
"Very well. If these be remnants of those who laid waste to this place, we shall make them regret their deeds... and if they be raiders to pick over its bones we shall teach them the punishment for theft. Take with you what rangers you will need, and light cavalry as well. With the rangers, discover the place of their movements, and meet them there. Confined and facing an open fight against bow and lance, you will defeat them easily. May Asher's Grace be with you."
Argus turned back to his work, but his subordinate did not move.
"Have I missed something, Mathias?"
"No, my Lord Argus... but there are other reports from the coast... Orcs, my Lord."
"Orcs?"
"Aye. Their ships are approaching, and will make land soon."
"Orcs..." snarled Argus, "So it is not enough that they plague our borders in the east, but they have followed us to the west as well? So be it. My orders to you stand, Mathias. I shall take care of the Orcs. Make haste."
"Yes, my Lord Argus," said Mathias, bowing slightly before running off to give the call to his men.
Argus brooded, and called for his squire to bring his armor and weapons. Through gritted teeth he whispered to himself as he looked to the horizon through the smouldering embers of Solaris.
So... the beasts have followed us here... though I know not what hand they have had in this tragedy, I have never known them to be friends of Men. Let them come. Let them see what Men are made of.
Argus donned his armor, commanding his men to fortify what was left of the city, and to prepare for assault. With fire had this place of men been punished... and with steel and the fortitude of human spirit would it be rebuilt and stand against those who sought to plunder its remains!
The recent years had been generous to the Hafri. Their plains which had once been hard and dusty were now softened by gentle rainfall and rivers had formed out of the nearby mountains. The first Hafri city had sprung up at the base of these mountains, it was called Odea. Tall wooden walls surrounded the rapidly growing city and each year the acres of lush farmland surrounding Odea were reaped for more than enough reward. The nomadic Hafri now had a home.
Svedre felt an immense pressure building up. The Hafri had fascinated him since he had discovered them but in recent times they felt different. The walls of Odea were little more than a dam to hold in the inevitable surge. The pressure didn't feel good to Svedre, but he knew the release would be oh so sweet.
Anah looked up at the huge pale man who towered over her. He asked her a question, she supposed, but the shock and the pain and the terror rendered her nearly mute. She shook her head a few times, and then pointed past Argus to a figure standing behind him.
"The Enemy came in the night and turned our Lord's hand against us. Thank you for your offer of assistance, my friend. It will take Solaris centuries to recover -- if it ever does."
Ojah walked towards Argus and showed his empty hand in greeting.
"We do not understand why, but Cable came to the temple at night and unleashed Solar's essence there. The God intervened to protect us, of course, but not soon enough for many. The rebuilding will be... difficult. And there is another problem."
Ojah sighed and slumped against a wall.
"Solar... my Lord... is the divine embodiment of the term 'hot tempered.'" The priest allowed himself a tiny smile. It faded quickly into a haunted frown. "He has done something rash."
Ojah pointed at a small child. The young boy was darting around the rubble, peeking behind bricks and under arches -- playing tag with something invisible.
"Solar pronounced a curse upon the servants of Cable. It was, perhaps, over-hasty and ill planned. Solar (though I love Him) lacks the subtlety of the Thief-God. She immediately set about converting the children of Solaris. All of the children."
Ojah shook his head again. "The Solar cannot rescind his curse. I cannot -- will not -- allow these children to die. And die they will, if the rays of the sun ever strike their skin. I need you to help us, stranger. I need you to hide these children of the Light from their former God. They are Cable's now, and the Sun's touch will be their deaths."
Ojah stared at the tall stranger, awaiting a response. It never came. At that moment, scouts and messengers were racing towards both men with news of invasion. Ojah had time to order all women and children indoors (safe, he hoped, from Orc and Sun alike) before the immediate concerns of directing the fight for Solaris overtook him.
"Battle calls, my friend Ojah," nodded Argus as they both began to direct their people, "and I must see to it. You shall be protected by Asher, and your request shall be granted by the priests."
Argus motioned towards one of his men, and spoke to him quickly in a language that Ojah could not understand. The Son of Asher departed, and the figure walked up to Ojah. Like all the Asherites, he seemed large and broad of shoulder, his face a weatherbeaten map of wrinkles and scars. He appeared to be some sort of holy man, as his hair and beard were long, much unlike the close-cropped militants. Though he wore white vestements, they did little to conceal the chainmail and warhammer beneath them.
"Hail, Ojah," he spoke in a booming yet serene voice, "I am Morganus, Priest of Asher. My Lord Argus has instructed me to protect your children from this curse, and I will gladly obey."
The priest removed his vestements, handing them to Ojah. Not only was he armed and armored, but belts strapping his body were hung with all manner of scrolls, vials, and talismans. It seemed that this priest was prepared for whatever conflict to which his service would carry him, be it physical or spiritual.
"This cloth bears the Blessings of Asher, and will shield them from harm. Let your children wear them in the light of the sun, and its rays shall not burn them if they are wrapped and cowled in this blessed cloth," said Morganus, placing a large hand upon Ojah's shoulder as he saw the flagging hope in the face of one who had devoted himself to the Solar, "I know it pains you to do this... to hide them.
"Do you see that which floats above, even by daylight?" continued Morganus, raising his eyes toward the moon that had shown its face that day, "That is Aesho, the land of the Dead. It is where Asher was born, and where he has returned. His father is called Daevak, a harsh God who cares only for bloodshed, and never did he hear the pleas of his forgotten son.
"We know by his words the pain of being isolated from one's own father... but though your children must be hidden and separated by day, you may show them the light of the sun reflected in Aesho by night. My men shall give you their vestements, and we will make as many more as needed if we but have the linen that we may consecrate with His protection."
Morganus gave him a strong pat on the back. He appeared to be about to leave, but gazed about the ruined city and spoke again to Ojah.
"And though this place may become by necessity a city of shadows... know that even in the greatest darkness, the light of justice may shine. To Asher we have all vowed to protect the innocent from tyranny and deeds of malice. It shall be done."
On the third day, the Solarian woman called Ahlam bint Nazli bint Raja-zayna, once betrothed to the now deceased captain of the gaurd, died. From the branches of a dead tree, she hung, a noose fashioned from her own clothes. For three days she hung in between life and death. In those three days, she witnessed all that occured to her city and her beloved. As the sun set on the third day, when death finally took hold, she died cursing Solar and Cable. In the final moments of death, she had seen and understood all.
Draiodoir detached himself from the shadows, watching the body of the woman slowly swing back and forth. Stars began to appear in the heavens, as the sun's last rays dissapeared under the horizon. Draiodoir silently said a prayer to himself. With any luck, Solar would not bear witness to what would shortly occur.
The godling cut down the corpse, carefully setting it down at the base of the tree. In life, Ahlam had been a stunning beauty. Draiodoir found himself comparing her to a star as he carefully laid her out spread eagle. He removed the noose, as well as each little bit of clothing she had left. Sitting cross-legged, removed an obsidian knife from the folds of his robe. Setting it against the dead woman's flesh, he began the grisly task of removing her organs.
He worked with practiced precsion and without emotion. Each organ, as it was removed, was carefully placed in clay jars, as Draiodoir spoke the ritual in a whisper.
"Iejir ekess edar.." The heart was removed.
"Thrae ekess edar.." The lungs followed suit.
"Achthend ekess edar.." The stomach had been a bit tricky.
"Othokent..ekess..edar.." Finally, the brain.
The first part complete, Draiodoir began to sew up the body. A figure moved behind him, detaching itself from the shadows as easily as the godling before it. Casting a glance back, Draidoir grunted and continued to work. His Faidh son watched on impassively.
"She will be the third?" The boy's voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"Yes, Claíomh.." Reaching within his robes once more, the godling pulled forth a glass vial, filled with black sand. Uncorking it and setting it to the corpse's lips, he watched with understanding as the sands flowed out, seemingly on their own, and down the woman's throat. Claíomh stepped nearer, watching with interest as the woman's fingers slowly began to move.
"Ahlam bint Nazli bint Raja-zayna.." Draiodoir leaned forward as he spoke, until his lips were nearly touching the woman's ears."Perhaps in the centuries to come, you will find it in you to forgive what I have done to you. The needs of the Taibreamh surpass all, however, and you have been chosen, and so are named. Ahlam bint Tromlu."
Gathering up the body of the dead woman, who continued to show more signs of life then death, Draiodoir moved back towards the shadows. Looking back upon the child, he smiled slightly. "Come, Claíomh..we go home. The three ridire have been found.."
Shamus on
0
INeedNoSaltwith blood on my teethRegistered Userregular
edited May 2007
Solaris burned; and the fire was fought. The Solar spat his curse, and Cable spat in his face.
Oberon had been there, had gone sneaky sneaky in the night and beyond Solar's gaze to the children, every moment so dedicated, deathly dedicated to his mother-goddess-friend. Oberon had been the first to come when the Goddess of Hope had called, and he had led the faerie brigade in their charge; he had cheered the cause of the faerie queen all the while, and when he spoke to the children in the night in their bedrooms, quiet voices where the Grown Ups couldn't hear, he spoke with pride and spoke with zeal, and the children knew Cable to be true, and they loved her.
Oberon, he loved her, too.
But when the faeries had gone and the sun began to rise, Oberon stayed, and he went to his queen; and when the Preseveri stayed the light and brought Solaris into endless night, Oberon stared into the eyes of the Goddess of Imagination and he knew what she had done.
And he cursed her, and he spat on her, and he threw his flowered crown to the earth. He shouted and screamed, and Cable watched him, tears formed in her eyes.
And he spoke: You are my queen and my queen is a monster; you look down upon us and our friends with the eyes of a god, the eyes of an infant, blind and stupid. We are people and people and people and we are not toys! The children of Solaris carry your light in their souls and it is my doing -- and I am ashamed, ashamed that your truth is a weapon.
I will find my brothers, and we will shun you, and we will live in the daylight where Solar will watch us, and we will be the true sprites. Those who stay, we pronounce them the sidhe, and they will cower under the shade and under the earth, they will hide in worlds that Solar cannot see, and they will be your court of murderers.
Oberon stared long at Cable, and Cable stared back, silent, for a long time before Oberon spoke once more.
The sun rose over the orcish caravan marching through the desert towards Solaris when a group of Shaman dedicated to both Primal and Cable started to burn for reasons no one could fathom. In other parts of the world many other Druids and Shaman burst into flames as well. They called out with their dieing breaths for salvation from the inferno they where forced to bear, and their cries did not go unanswered.
The Solar and Cable’s feuding has caused much suffering to my worshipers; order must be restored. Although I agree with Cable’s goals, I feel she went about achieving them the wrong way; I also feel that The Solar let his anger get the better of him. For this I offer a small comfort for those caught in a fight between gods although I loath to do so.
Primal willed his followers of Cable to change their forms into that of trees. These trees where not of the common variety, but where much more in likeness to the mighty trees of old.
Where there were but a few followers, small groves popped up, but in places where many Druids and Shaman of Cable dwelled, mighty forests sprung up.
Although I could not save your true bodies I can offer you and all worshipers of Cable this small gift: From the spark of Cable that dwells within you I have drawn from the evolutionary stream a fragment of Cable’s mighty forest that was destroyed before time during the rending of the world. In these forests and groves Solar’s light shall not burn you. As a further boon I shall connect the large forests with the Yggdrasil trees, those who follow Cable will be protected from harm in these trees just as they are in the forests and groves. Be forewarned however that by traveling between the forests and trees you shall lose pieces of your life force and have it replaced with your faith until there is nothing remaining but a true fey.
To the people of Solaris I grant this: Although your current children have been lost to Cable’s fairies, you will be able to assure that any children born in the future shall be able to escape this fate. If you hang a sprig of goat weed bound in an iron ring above the bed of your infants as they sleep, Cable’s fairies shall not be able to draw near.
Primal looked down upon his work and was troubled.
The orc caravan could see Solaris in the distance when they came across a group of riders blocking their path. Half of them, clad in the robes of the desert nomads, wielding shortbows and scimitars... the other half clad in gleaming steel, armed with all manner of weapons. There was no mistaking who had joined the people of Solar... the orcs knew of the Asherites, and recognized the banner of the Broken Sword.
"Halt!" shouted one of the armored men, removing his helmet, "These lands are under the protection of the Riders of the Burning Sands, and the Legions of the Broken Sword. You will return to your ships and go home to your rotten jungles in the east immediately. We will have none of your orcish tricks here... and if you approach Solaris you will find that she is more than ready for your brutes."
The hiss of blades scraping leather filled the air as the mounted warriors drew their steel almost in unison.
"This shall be your only warning. Go."
Posts
He looked upwards, where he could see Aesho circling above through the trees.
"Behold, my Lord Daevak... my Father... have I not done thee well?"
And with these words he collapsed... releasing his grip upon the monstrous heads to pull his broken sword close to his chest as he fell into a deep sleep within the Great Forest.
The wolves aided the orcs in the hunt and proved useful at guarding the turbocks and the children. Turbocks where used to carry supplies, for milk, and for the easy meat on days where hunting proved unsuccessful. The velocigeier where mostly used for their meat and eggs, but they where sometimes used by the hunters to flush out prey they didn't want to risk the wolves with.
Kraton had run into a problem however, as there was no way off the continent of the orcs.
"Primal! The Wild One who presides over the lesser creatures of the world, hear my plea!"
Several nearby trees uprooted themselves bound together to take the shape of a wooden sasquatch.
"I am here Kraton, tell me why you have called." said Primal.
Kraton seemed both angered and embarrassed about what he had to say, "I can no longer preform my duties; I can find no way off this land. The only other island in sight is too far away to swim and any rafts I make seem to be rejected by the waters themselves."
"I shall aid you then! I suspect that your contemporary is having the same difficulties that you are."
The wooden sasquatch then took the form of wooden bird with leafy feathers. Primal took hold of Kraton and searched out his human priest. Primal spotted him looking out across the ocean. Primal set Kraton down next to the human and then Primal landed.
"Human, this is my other priest, he is of the orcs."
The priest bowed to Primal before addressing Kraton, "Hello orc, my name is Van."
Van offered a hand to Kraton, Kraton looked at it for a moment before responding.
"Greetings Van, I am Kraton, Slayer of the god-lizard and First Shaman of Primal, my kin are that of the Sacred Mountain Tribe."
"Enough of these greetings, I have something I wish to tell you."
Van got down on one knee before Primal, Kraton looked at Van for a moment before focusing on the god before him.
As my priests you are to honor me above all other gods, but I am not a petty god, you must devout your worship to me, but I shall allow you to ask the other gods who hold precedence over your needs for assistance, only if they refuse you should you ask me for help in matters such as this. Next time you must cross these waters try asking Svedre for safe passage, but this time I shall transport you to a new continent."
"Now to the matters at hand. Kraton, you are to stay here and teach the humans your gift, Van, I shall carry you to another land, the orcs lifestyle and dietary needs would not let them easily live as a simple farmer, they are a people of the hunt and the herd."
Primal then took hold of Van and flew him off to a distant land who had not learned of the true glory that was Primal.
How much time has passed? He wondered, gazing at his bloodstained body and cradling his broken sword.
It seemed that much time had passed indeed, for upon return to his tribesmen he would find that they had advanced greatly in his absence as he hunted the Natterlings... they grew crops, built permanent and sturdy structures to defend them from the wild things of the world... and they made fire.
And from fire could be made Steel. It could be made into weapons and armor, like he had known on Aesho.
He helped the men to see in the in the potential of rock, the blessings of the Elder Gomac... that what lay within would make them stronger in the defense of their people.
And man, ingenious as he was, quickly developed iron and steel... in ways that surprised the young God. And though they offered him generous gifts, Saint Asher would always carry his broken sword into battle, that last heirloom and memory of his old home. In a time, he even came to be known in some tribes as Brokensword, and this emblem would be found on the armor and shields of his followers.
The legend and power of brokensword grew as he sent more Natterlings to Daevak's Realm... and with legend and followers came power. In time, as the ring of steel on steel began to be heard in villages, Saint Asher dropped to his knees and made a silent prayer to Aesho above.
The Gift of Steel is made to men in your name, my Lord Daevak. Thy Will Be Done in this place, as it is in Aesho.
They learned, while asleep, the secrets of the world. In dreams, they learned just how deadly the desert was, but how much life thrived within it. There were stretches of wasteland to be avoided at all costs. Here Solar did not allow anything to grow or to survive. Still, there was life in other parts of the land. They hunted, offering words to Primal as they slew his children with spear and boomerang. Draiodoir had seen it fit to teach the Fáidh the crafting of tools.
North they moved en masse, leaving behind nothing of their passing. In word and song they preserved the memories of the early trials, which would be passed down from generation to generation. Many fell victim to the desert. Their passing was mourned, and it is said that the songs for the dead are still heard in the deserts of the south.
The great dangers that swirled across this ball of rock were many and varied. Climate. Natterlings. The whims of His brothers and His sisters. Any or all of these could threaten It.
And so it was that Verweren Saw that He could not protect this world alone. He required assistance. And so it would be.
He stood forth, and Saw His brother, Solar. He basked in Solar's radiance, and gathered to Himself that energy.
He stood forth, and He touched the Sky. From it, He gathered the tiniest drops of rain and the tiniest bit of the wind.
He stood forth, and He reached out to the Earth. He gathered from it the strength and stamina that allowed it to last forever.
And finally, He stood forth, and He Spoke, His Word giving Form to these disparate pieces.
"Behold! Unto this World, I bequeath My power once more."
From these elements, water, wind, fire, and earth, He made them. They came together, exactly ten in all, winged to fly through the air, driven by their inner fire, implacable and unforgiving as the ocean, strong and protective as the earth.
Clad in the shining light of Verweren's love and power, filled with purpose, they flew about Him. These, these would be his First agents. These would be His hand...
"Behold, my Gift to the World. Behold, my Preserveri..."
And so, They came to Be.
bored.
There were so many of these things now (and they were all taller than her!), and they were all bland, and they walked around like they owned the place, and they were destructive and, ah, goal-oriented. They could see all the world around them for what it really was, but still, Cable had failed! They did not imagine what could be, what could never be, and that was wrong.
And Cable, the little Faerie Queen standing in a little mushroom circle in a little forest not unlike the one she had once inhabitted, spun around and stamped her foot.
Wrong, wrong, wrong!
And she shouted to her brothers and sisters in the heavens, You made broken things, and they are your things, but I will take them and make them better!
And Cable went to the tribe of humans who lived near this tiny forest, where they worked the plains and made food, where they murdered one another in the name of Asher and Daevak, where they killed in the name of lust and envy and greed and spite, and she slipped into the Headman's little brick hut, a little brick hut where a tall man made big decisions, and she robbed away his daughter while he slept; and she went to the Shaman's hut, a wooden thing with a fire of burning incense, a wooden thing where an aging man learned the secrets of the natural world, and she took away his son and daughter; and she went to the farmers' homes, and she stole away their children, one by one, an entire generation of Plainsmen following the little faerie queen as she led them away to her mushroom circle.
And Cable took them, and she told them, You are the children of Man, and you would grow up tall and strong and smart, but I am taking that away from you. You will be the children of Cable, and you will grow up small and fast and clever, and you will never be human again. You will be mortal, but you will forever see through My eyes, and it is you that I task with showing the mortals things that their sad minds will never see on their own.
I will call you sprites.
And she set them off across the world, a sprite for every handful of villages perhaps, to see through her eyes, to share her vision with the mortals. ...
And she stamped her foot and spun around, and she shouted, Wrong wrong wrong! There is more to be done, so many broken things!
Cable wandered off from her mushroom circle again, this time to the orcs - but not any orcs, no, not just any orcs would do! She had to find the orc, the orc who had bested Primal at his own game! And it was spectacular, because he was mighty but he was mighty on his own, he was not the working of any deity!
And Cable scoffed. Who was he, just another smelly mortal, to best ANY deities? No! Not okay! That is not alright, not to Cable, not at all, 'cause mortals should be smart and capable and ... and ... well, they shouldn't be that strong and smart and capable! Nope! Okay, fine, where is this orc?
So Cable went to find the orc, Kraton, that had bested Primal, and when she found him, she did not waste her breath on fair fighting or hunting or anything; rather, she found him, and she told him he would come with her, and he came with her.
And Cable did her thing, she took something that belonged to someone else and she made it her own. She said to Kraton, to orc, this: You are an orc and you are the finest of your people, but now you are mine, and you are too big. You are strong, you are tall, and while you have not the great intelligence of man, you have cunning and instinct in their place. Your flaw ... your flaw is that there is violence in you, violence for the sake of violence, and while Primal was blind to it, I am not. But! I am not here to fix that flaw. No, I can use you. Kraton, you will be small, and you will be vicious, and you will be cunning, and your greatest sin will be gluttony, and you will hunt to eat, and you will eat past your fill, and you will wash yourself in the blood of the mortals you kill, you will be a reminder of all the terrible things that walk the world, and you will always be there in the minds of mortals, and I will call you the Redcap, and you are my child.
And she set the Redcap to the globe, to indulge his sadism and his gluttony, to remind the mortals to never stop thinking of what might be waiting just out of sight.
Here, he found one of the human tribes he had met long before, who cowered in fear of Volko and the beings that served him. Saint Asher rallied them, and armed and wreathed in the gift of steel, they ventured forth to bring justice to the foul beasts.
The days that followed were soaked in blood and death. The humans were too weak to follow Asher into the Chaos Realms, some driven mad by the psionic storms, some rent in two by the awful creatures of that place... one by one they fell, and Asher had not the power to save them... he wept bitter tears, for it was only the sword that he knew.
Full of anger, he finally reached the lair of Volko. And though the dread Natterling was nigh unstoppable on the mortal plane, never had it seen the ferocity of Asher's vengeance. The young God felt no pain, no fear, and though he recieved terrible wounds he smote Volko again and again with the Broken Sword, until the beast lay dead and twitching at his feet.
Asher fell to his knees, the weight of his wounds finally falling down upon him. He looked at the destruction he had caused in astonishment... even shame.
I am a fool, he whispered, choking on his blood, I am a fool who praises the name of one who cares for only death, seeking the approval of He who has never answered my prayers... and for what? To lead my men to their death? Perhaps... I shall lie here with them...
Asher fell to the ground and wept, his body broken and bleeding... he felt the chaos storm burning down upon him. He felt weak, for his spirit had been broken by the folly of his deeds. But suddenly... he felt the touch of a hand, and glowing health streamed through his body. He started to get up.
Be still, Asher, said a calm voice that rang with a metallic clarity, Mighty you are indeed, but it is only a forgiving hand that may heal you.
Asher looked up to behold a radiant figure, whose very presence pushed away the blackness and fire of the Chaos Storm.
Who? asked Asher, Who are you?
I am Avyylar, said the Angelic Perseverant, I am a Servant of Verweren.
Asher stood, straightening his body up, though shaken he was still from battle. He felt his spirit building, his body repairing. This was a new presence he felt within him. This was something true... something that his Lord Daevak knew not... it was Mercy. A gift that he knew Men would sorely need.
I ask of you, Avyylar, said Asher, saluting with the Broken Sword, to take me to your master Verweren. Will you do this?
Primal’s first job was to find a suitable replacement for Kraton.
First, Primal sought out the three greatest orcs in the land, Mergot the hunter, an orc whose skill was second only to Kraton. Lurva, the greatest herder in the world, she who could walk without fear among the mightiest of beasts and whose herd seemed but an extension of the body. Finally there was Hitok the Blind, an ancient orc and a great Chieftain who in his youth had been badly wounded and left for dead on a hunt; the crows had picked out his eyes as he hung between life and death, yet he managed to cling to life and claw his way back to his tribe where he was nursed back to health. It was said among the orcs that although Hitok’s eyes where blind to this world, he could see into the world beyond and gaze upon the dead, the past, the future, and even the gods themselves.
“You shall carry on Kraton’s work and spread the knowledge of beasts and the truth of Primal to the world. If any ask to join you on your pilgrimage, allow them to do so.â€
Primal then spread his prophets across the world so they could carry out their duties.
Now Primal had one last goal in mind before he rested. Deep in a dark and foreboding forest Primal found what he had came for, a small, twisted creature was feeding upon a traveler who had become lost within the woods. The Redcap looked up from his feast, mad eyes darting about wildly, but seeing nothing, he returned to his feast.
â€Kraton.â€
A single word, a single name, yet it banished the sounds of gorging from these dark woods. Kraton looked up once more, but this time he gazed upon the true visage of Primal, one that was raw and pure and strong. Kraton lunged at the god with reckless hunger, wishing to devour the god, for maybe that would slack his endless gluttony. Primal easily sidestepped the shadow of his former champion.
â€You where once great, now you are one of the damned. You who men fear, at heart, you are not even a beast; you are a monster who only lives to kill and consume. Do you know what you have become? Do you know what you have gained? Do you know what you lost?†There was a great sadness in Primal’s voice.
The Redcap leaped into a tree and cut a rope, causing a large branch to fall down towards Primal, but rather then hitting Primal, it fell in front of him and planted itself into the ground where it grew and spread and became a new tree.
The Redcap looked down on Primal with a lunatic grin and eyes filled with a lust for bloodshed and a hunger for god-flesh; the only thing about this cruel goblin that still held a resemblance to the proud orc he once was where the scars across his face.
Kraton leaped from the treetops, weapon held high with the blood of his last victims shining crimson on the blade. Primal smacked the imp out of the air with a massive claw, and then picked him up off the ground.
â€REDCAP!†A great rage was held within Primal’s voice, “You and any others of your ilk who may someday exist shall never be able to stand before my Shamen or Druids. You and your kin are cursed from ever facing what you have lost.â€
The Redcap seemed frightened; he was no longer trying to gnaw through the god’s tree-like grasp out of hunger or even bloodlust, but out of fear.
â€You used to have the skills of a well trained hunter, now you fight like a rabid beast.â€
Primal started squeezing the Redcap by it's torso.
â€But know this Kraton,†vine-like markings started to radiate from the Redcap’s chest as he struggled to escape from Primal, â€I am not done with you yet, I make this promise to you: When the world grows dark and the fear you spread among the races is eclipsed by the evil that plagues all life on this rock, you shall return even greater then you where before and ascend to your rightful place by my side.â€
Primal suddenly let go of the Redcap and walked into the distance before disappearing from sight, the only sign that he had been there was a single mark on the Redcap’s chest; a seed that resembled an orc’s head.
I now make this promise to all life that inhabits this rock and the endless dark above: The mightiest tree in the black forest shall be the salvation of all.
Somewhere in the world an old orc smiles and a lost hero forgets his hunger for just a moment.
Solar watched as the other Gods twisted and shaped the inhabitants of the planet to their own ends. Demigods and heroes and monsters and races sprung up, all around. Idly, the Solar toyed with the idea of a race that waxed and waned in strength with the sun's rays, before discarding it in frustration.
Bah.
For a time, the Solar brooded in his observatory, watching the spin of the stars through the universe. Idly he flicked a couple of glowing orbs and they exploded in a fairly satisfying fashion. The Solar smiled as their heat coursed back into him.
His problem, he realised was that he didn't really understand the world he'd helped to create. The Sar and the Salamanders weren't really much for conversation, after all.
The Solar hesitated for a moment.
Then he shrugged his star-spanning shoulders.
He looked down at the planet, and located a newborn baby. Scooping its consciousness from its head and setting it safely aside, he inserted a tiny fraction of his own awareness into its now vacant body.
The Solar opened his eyes and smiled at his new family.
At His request, the Preserveri stretched forth its arms, and gathered the Saint Asher to its bosom, enwrapping Him in its caring, protective embrace. At its touch, His wounds ceased to bleed, and His bones began to mend. The power of the Storm held back at its countenance, beating fruitlessly at its serenity.
It extended forth its wings, and carried Asher up, and away. It took Asher's body from the madness of the Chaos Realms forthwith, and carried Him high, away, and past the small rock that was the mortal world, and into the Cradle, where only the gods may play.
And there before the Preserveri stood the figure of Verweren, a body of light that held no human feature. He waited as the Preserveri placed the body down, and watched down at the reclining form of the Saint as he healed even in His presence. And Verweren Spoke, His voice filling the Saint Asher's very spirit with the protective guidance and care that was Verweren's existence.
"Unto You hath my Preserveri come, to deliver You from the doom of Chaos. Unto You my power hath come, delivering Your form from the pain that hath been inflicted. And unto You, I hath given Mine protection to seek this Cradle of Godhood, so that You might speak Your words unto Me. What are Your Words, Asher, Brother and Child? Of what would You Speak?"
And so he waited for the young god's Word, knowing that Word shaped Being, and that this meeting, the First of its kind, would determine the Turnings to come...
I come to you, Lord Verweren, not upon my own behalf, said St. Asher as he bowed low. I have come to ask of you a gift for Men, mortal beings of the world below.
They are capable of so much, my Lord. They have the capacity for great things. I have tried my best to protect them in battle, with the virtues of noble combat... but it is not enough. I have brought great justice upon the most evil of beings, yet the people I have sought to protect have suffered greatly. I... I have failed them, my Lord.
I beseech of you a gift that I may bear to Men. The protective power I felt in the healing hands of your servant... the Gift of Mercy. Would I could bear it to Men, that they may be protected from Evil.
Saint Asher looked up, his face marked with sincerity as much as it was with scars.
Teach me Mercy, Lord Verweren, that I may protect all Mortals.
I've been here before..Where exactly here was, Hitok didn't know. The orc had dreamed of this place, and suspected as much that he was dreaming right now. Ever since his sight had been robbed by the crows, he had seen this place in glimpses. With every vision he had of the future, there was the glimpse of these flowers.
"Primal, is it your realm I find myself in?" Hitok whispered, but found his voice echoing as if he shouted. A cold fear gripped him as the sky suddenly darkened. In a wave, the flowers petals changed to the color of fire. The orcs eyes widened as a tree erupted from the field, deadless and huge.
Strange, intricate markings lined the bark. Thin lines formed patterns that criss-crossed the trunk and every branch of the tree. Thes lines softly glowed with a faint light. No leaves hung from the branches that Hitok could see, as the rest dissapeared above the clouds. Fear crept up Hitok's spine as he watched three huge crows descend from the clouds.
Six eyes watched Hitok as he stood frozen in place, as each crow claimed a branch.
"This land does not belong to beast or plant, orc.." One crow spoke, but three voices left it's beak. "Hitok the Blind, do you know me?"
Hitok the Blind could see where the herds could be found, and what dangers his tribe would face in the future. He could see into the realms of the dead and beesech the lost for their knowledge. The gods themselves could not hide from his sight, yet Hitok did not reconize the crows before him.
"I am The Taibreamh.." The crow spoke again, with three voices. "We are three and one."
"What do you want of me?" Hitok had never heard of the name before.
"You see beyond what eyes can see. You bear my gift." The crow took a moment to preen it's feathers, leaving Hitok a moment to wonder what kind of god he had stumbled upon. "Orcish prophet, our gift is not without a price. You shall see all the possible futures, and understand the destinies that form from them. The memory of the beginning will be yours, and you will see the end. Age will cease to take it's toll on you, yet all you will know is rest. For generations, the world will pass you bye as you sleep. You will sleep the centuries away, as you dream of the future."
The crows descended on him, before he could move or even speak. For a moment, the horror of the moment overtook him as memories overwhelmed him. Yet there was no pain as the dream world went dark, as the two crows that spoke plucked out his eyes with delicate care. He felt sleep overtake him, as the soft voice of The Taibreamh whispered in his ears.
"For now, lead your people, and walk the earth for your god. Spread the name of Primal and share his gifts. Teach orc and man both of Primal, and The Taibreamh. I will come for you soon.."
One of ten flies between the trees of a cold night, its aura taunting that which lies below. As it flies, the lush forest suddenly changes. Barren land, spotted with cracked and withered trees goes for as far as the newthing's eyes might see. Shadowy creatures scramble around the edge of the land, the vastness of the barren space seeming to increasing with their stride.
The child of Verweren pauses, floating gently to the ground behind a group of the things and watches them. As they touch the edge of the forest, the plants shrivel and die and the animals unlucky enough to stay around crack and crumple into piles of ash. Just as the Preserveri turns to face the nearest of the creatures, dark tentacles fly out from somewhere in the darkness, coiling the creature in a mighty grasp. It's mouth opens to scream, but is staunched by the mass of writhing tentacles. More and more tentacles swarm around it, and yank it through into the nothingness.
Tara'lar watches the creature's pleading gaze as it is pulled into the Ak'tar, its hand reaching out for a saviour. So quick to learn fear.
And Verweren Spoke.
"Brother and Child, Your Word hath been Spoken, and thus You have defined Your Purpose. You will be the agent of Your twin Purpose on this World."
The Body that was Verweren extended a shining hand to point at the world, visible from the Cradle at Verweren's Will.
"Asher, the Saint of Mankind, so shall You be Known. Asher, the Defender of the Weak, so shall You be Known. Asher, Healer of the Sick, so shall You be Known. Asher, the Light to turn back the Dark, so shall You be Known. Unto thee I give My Lore. Unto Thee, I share My secrets. Unto Thee, I gift Knowledge."
And of the divine power of Verweren, the personification of guardianship, the smallest part became unto a circle of Light, extended in the palm of the outstretched arm. And Verweren extended that palm to Asher, inviting Him to partake of Verweren's knowledge, to See the universe as Verweren had Seen it. To Know the universe as Verweren had Known it. And to Become the Purpose, as Verweren had become it.
In that single brief moment that Asher's hand touched Verweren's, Asher's wounds were healed, as if they had never been. His bones re-knitted themselves, as if they had never been broken. And in that instant, Asher's eyes glowed with a holy light, and in that instant, He Saw.
When Asher recovered from His Awakening, He was laid upon the world, clad in the flesh of a man. And before him, in the earth, stood His Broken Sword, the blade with which He had fought Evil.
"And Behold, O Asher, My Brother and My Child, that which You carried into battle and which was destroyed, so have I returned unto You. I have gifted You with My Knowledge and My Purpose, Asher, My Brother and My Child. Do with it what You Will."
And the Voice of Verweren fell silent in Asher's ears, and the Spirit of Verweren grew dim in Asher's mind. Until Asher stood alone on the broken and sorrowful place where first the Natterlings came to Be. On that very spot, reconsecrated by Verweren's Touch and Asher's presence, Asher stood now with his Unbroken Blade and the Knowing that Verweren had given him.
And All that Was and All that Would Be stilled for a single instant, at the instant that the youngest of the Gods truly Became...
Chapter 4:
And so it came to pass that the God Solar
The First under Eternity,
Shadowscourge and Firegiver,
The Shattered Ender,
Came to live among the People of the World.
And He was born in a small Village
That has no name
O Holy home of The Solar
Inside the Great Desert
O Holy Emptiness!
And it is said that He grew quickly
In Stature
In Understanding
In Knowledge
And that by the end of His first year in the world
He was as a Young Man.
And in those days of miracles and of turmoil
Such an event
Passed without comment
And He lived among them
And He learned of the world that He had helped make.
And as He grew, He questioned the wise of the village
About the Earth
About Humanity
About the Gods above
And particularly about the God Solar, as He was not without Pride.
And the Elders shook their heads and told Him to ask of
Svedre who Sleeps in the Seas or
Cable the Thief-God or
Primal the Creator of Life but
Not of Solar, for He was counted as Dead.
"Ask after the Taibreamh Who are Three or
Daevak or Saint Asher or
Any of the Gods but The Solar
Who was Rent by Cable and Died;
Only the Sar and the Sun and the Salamandrim remain of the God-that-Was."
And they spat on the ground to prevent the coming of the Fire-lizards
And they told Him to ask no more questions,
And the Solar felt the kindled flames of His rage,
And a small voice whispered in His ear,
They have forgotten you.
And the Solar gathered together His will and
Would have destroyed the village,
His family,
And his hope for the future,
But He paused, and He looked, and He saw who had whispered in his ear.
He saw it, and by the light of the Son was it revealed.
And He spoke then, and He said,
Come to me, Natterling, and know that I am God.
And the Natterling came, and the village was amazed,
To see the great Demigod cowering before a Boy
For they still did not Know the Solar-child.
And the Solar spoke then, and He said,
Natterling, do you aught but spread fear and dissension?
And the Natterling spoke and said,
No Lord, for that is my purpose.
And the Solar said NO MORE.
And the Solar spoke then, and said,
You shall be the first.
And the Will of the God struck,
And the Solar spoke again, and said,
You will go forth and whisper in ears, but no longer speak your poison.
Whisper to the people encouragements and joys.
Whisper to the people of the beauty of the world.
Whisper to them of the pleasures of goodness.
Whisper to them of the Light of the World.
Tell the world of My birth. Tell them that the Solar walks the Earth.
And the people of the village fell down on their faces before the Risen Son.
And the Word of Solar's birth went from that place
O Holy Village!
Like fire in the Wickwood groves it spread,
And the world changed,
As it always does.
So ends the Reading. May the warmth of the Sun comfort you always.
There were no legends of Saint Asher passed among the small tribes of the land. They did not know the glorious touch of Solar, or the fairy queen, Cable. Here, the humans that lived within the jungles knew only fear, death, and war. They knew weakness. Those who were weak were left behind, exiled, or killed outright. There could be no room for weakness in the tribes of the vast jungles. Blood was the milk they were raised on, and strife was all they knew.
Hutan only knew Natterling.
Many godlings had fled en masse to the continent. There, they continued their endless battles. Here, Nuthugga was consumed by the foul Ranjiniae, who resembled a horde of vermin with one single intelligence. The mammoth bones of Nuthugga still stand, a grim reminder of the chaos that consumed the continent.
Hidimva cut a swath of destruction through the jungle, consuming all in cannibalistic rage. Zizatza carved out a new empire, declaring himself king, while Black Sainglan fought endlessly for ever more power.
There was a strangeness to the lands, however. The land itself seemed to fight back against the intruders. Ranjiniae was consumed by the jungle itself, dissapearing into the earth and swallowed whole. The vermin that live out a pitiful life on the floor of the jungle are said to possess parts of his shattered mind. The tribes pass legends that one day, Ranjiniae will be reborn. Hidimva cut his way to the south, when his rage suddenly died away. He fell, not by the hand of any Natterling, but by some unknown source. The jungle overtook his slumbering form, drawing him into the earth as it did to Ranjiniae before. The destruction left in his wake healed overtime.
Zizatza flew north, all but abandoning his new kingdom as he watched Natterling fall one by one. Black Saingland followed him, said to have run across the oceans, laughing maniaclly as he did so, hearing the promise of more power in the frozen north. Hutan was forgotten by the fleeing Natterlings, yet the continent remembered them. The jungles continued to grow, while the wildlife that survived the chaos of the godlings changed. They grew in size and intelligence. Hutan had become a twisted reflection of Cable's dream, a nightmarish land.
The tribes survive, while the beasts continue to hunt. Hutan, where no god or godling is welcome, only knows strife.
In the Eternal's visions, chief components of the Design had been heroes – mighty mortals who walked alongside the gods and influenced and directed those below them. These heroes would not arise in peacetime – only conflict could give rise to the spirits needed, and only strife could forge them into what they must be.
Accordingly, the Eternal reached out his hand over the Earth, past the shattered islands which dotted the sea and into the centermost continent of the world. Here, deep in the mountains, laired Ogegya, one of the last and greatest of the Natterlings. Her nails were iron, her teeth stone; she appeared so ghastly that to look upon her was to drop dead from fright. To Ogegya the Eternal came, and he invested her with his will.
"Wretched one, hear me now. Your days of crawling in the mountains, bereft of dignity and purpose, feasting upon the bones of carrion, are over. You are to become the great mother, spawner of monsters. Alone and with others of your kind you will birth mighty and terrible creatures to bring ruin upon the later ages. Never again will you gnaw upon bare bones in your cave; you will grow fat upon the carcasses brought to you by your children, and rule the wilderness as a god on Earth."
Having said such, the Eternal departed. The monsters which Ogegya spawned, he planned, would be the heat which forged the heroes of the civilised races – heroes who would then lead their people to greatness.
And He Knew that while His servants, the Preserveri, were capable and powerful, they yet lacked any will to act without his guidance. Through this lack of will was one snared by one of Verweren's own brothers, its essence lost forever during a single moment of the God's distraction with the Saint Asher. And Verweren Knew that this Could Not Be.
And so it became that He called to Himself his nine Preserveri, and He Spoke unto them, and His Word became Truth.
"You are my children, my Preserveri, and I love thee. But though you are mighty and strong, you are naught but an expression of my will. As I Speak now unto you, you must cast off the chains that shackle your sentience, and grow to be true beings. Bound by My Will you may always be, but from this day forth to the end of eternity, you are given the gift of Awareness, and thus you gain Responsibility."
And so it became that the Preserveri became true beings, able to act under their own will and under their own power, though they were still eternally bound to their purpose. And so it was that Verweren spoke to them again, and instructed them to go forth, with His blessings. And He sent them forth.
Unto Man, children of the planet, came three, and they Spoke His Words in unison.
"Man hath come to be, and Man hath known Life. Amongst the Many that populate your world, Terror and Pain and Death come in great numbers, and seek only to destroy your divine essence, that of Life. Unto you, we, the children of Verweren, He Who Stands, He Who Protects, have come. Unto you we shall give the gifts of Salvation. Unto you, we shall give the gift of Warding. And unto you, we shall give the gifts of Hope."
The three Preseveri spread their wings, and blocked out, for a single moment, the radiance of Solar, in these people's eyes. And the people felt fear as the darkness covered them. Amongst the many who stood before them, some turned to comfort others, and these the first Preserveri spoke to.
"Unto you, those who would give comfort even in the face of thine own fear, we give the power of Salvation. We will teach you to protect and to comfort and to heal those around you, to better keep the good alive inside of you. You will be the Salveri."
Amongst the crowd there were those who looked to the darkness and gathered their meager weapons to themselves, watching for the beasts that came in the night, the monsters that stole away mother and brother and child alike. To these, the second Preserveri spoke.
"Unto you, those who would stand fast even in the face of thine own fear, we give the power of Warding. We will teach you to guard and defend and stand with those around you, to better keep the evils of the world from destroying you. You, will be the Warderi."
And then, to the rest of the gathered peoples, those who had stayed within the protective circle of the newly-crowed Warderi and who had been comforted by the words of the now-styled Salveri, the third of the Preserveri spoke.
"Unto you, those who were overcome by fear and know only pain, we give the gift of Hope, in the form of your bretheren. The Warderi will stand fast against the darkness, and the Salveri will heal and guard your souls. Verweren gives unto Man these gifts, the greatest of all gifts, merely from His love for Man's existence. As He has given us Awareness, so we give you in His name these gifts. Use our gifts and your race shall live. Spurn our gifts, and your race shall die."
And the three Preserveri once again closed their wings and the sun shone once more over this village, and the people looked to these angels with reverence and awe, and the Preserveri spoke to them once more, and began to teach them their duties and their responsibilities to their people.
And so it was that the first true chapter of Man's ascendance came to pass.
Suddenly Hitok spoke, “Sit down, this meeting is not yet over.”
The other orcs sat back down. The Shaman where curious, some of the Chieftains where annoyed that they had to listen to the ramblings of an old man instead of go to sleep, but they too stayed.
“Great Primal and I have been speaking for sometime, and we have come to a decision.”
The other orcs sat quietly and listened, knowing that Hitok would say what he had to say when he said it and no sooner.
“Another branch of the religion is to be opened, and I am to be the leader of it. To join the branches of Beast and Plant is the Branch of Gods.”
The Shaman seemed amazed and the Chieftains seemed confused.
“The Branch of the Gods is to work towards the knowledge of the other gods and their religions.”
A young Shaman spoke up, “But why do we need this new Branch?”
Hitok looked at the young orc (as best he could) and then said, “This Branch is to learn about other gods and their religions and deal with any conflicts that may arise between us and them. The Branch of Gods also holds the duty of studying the types of godlings known as “Natterlings”.”
A Chieftain known as Ertguth the Scarred stood up and bellowed, “We don’t need this new Branch, if the other worshipers cause trouble we will crush them. The other races are weak and any orc that follows their religions are as weak as them!”
Hitok raised a hand and silenced the raging Chieftain and spoke once more, “Religion is like a wild animal, if you know it you can learn to live with it, and if you cannot live with it then knowing its traits will make killing it easier.”
At this Ertguth seemed to calm done slightly, though he still seemed somewhat angry.
Hitok lifted himself from the ground and spoke once more before leaving the hut, “One last thing, members of the Branch of Gods are allowed to worship one other god besides Primal, this will allow a greater insight into other gods, religions, and even our own religion; because do we not all draw nourishment from Svedre waters or Rashiid’s air?”
The day had promised to dawn clear. In the Desert of the Sun, this was not altogether unusual. The two accused murderers had been brought, arms and legs tied securely, and left in the center of the scorching grounds. The sun was about to rise.
One of the priests had pointed at one of the men and had read the accusation.
"This man stands accused of darkest murder -- of stabbing and killing his wife, contrary to the laws set down by the Risen Son!"
The crowd, Ojah included, had screamed their rage at the affront to the Risen Son's Will.
The Priest had pointed at the second man.
"This man stands accused of foulest theft -- of stealing three sheep from his neighbour, contrary to the laws set down by the Risen Son!"
The crowd had howled once more, and then the Priest had motioned them to silence.
"Let the Risen Son be their judge, and let us abide forever according to his Will!"
The crowd, as was customary, fell silent and turned to the East -- where the furnace of Solar's Rage was rising.
Slowly, slowly, the sun had crept clear of the horizon. The only sound had been the feeble whimpers of the accused. Suddenly, the sun was up. The rays of the God had struck the carefully arranged and angled mirrors and bounded down towards the patch of half-melted sand where the two accused men were lying.
The thief had begun to scream and writhe as small flames burst into existence from his clothing, and blisters formed immediately on his skin. By the time his eyes boiled and burst, and his hair ignited, he was probably already dead. Soon there had been little left except a patch of greasy ash. The crowd screamed its approval.
The accused murderer, by contrast, lay nearby, gibbering in terror but completely unharmed. The rays of the mirrored sun had beaten down upon him, but he had felt them not. The Will of the Solar was clear. Long sticks were used to angle the mirrors skyward, and guards rushed forwards. Bringing the accused gently to his feet, they had used bronze knives to cut his bonds.
The Priest had spoken.
"The Will of the Risen Son! This man is innocent, and let no one speak otherwise! Guards, begin the search for the true murderer immediately. Todays Judgement is complete!"
It had been a good morning.
Ojah realized that he had been daydreaming and got back to polishing the mirror. There was another Judgement today, after all.
Perhaps it was Verweren's gifts that were the greatest contributor to his apotheosis, for they opened his heart to feel compassion. Asher felt a close kinship to Men... like them, he was an accidental creation. He loved their ingenuity, and the passion with which they lived their short lives. And he came to love a woman, known as Mayadryn.
The lives of men were short, and Mayadryn's even shorter, for she died young. With golden tears Asher realized that man's gift of death possessed great sadness as well. And he realized that like his wife, his followers who died following his lead needed him as well, stranded as their souls were on cold Aesho.
In her memory, Asher built a great palace, a fortress to guard the tomb where her body would lay to rest. In time his followers would build a city around the White Palace, that holiest of places that held the relics of Mayadryn.
Their children, twin boys, were still quite young, only teenagers. They had their father's strength, his moral fiber, and strong will. Asher took them to their mother's tomb to pay respect to her, as they often did. But this occasion was different, their father more serious and somber than usual when near his wife's grave.
My sons, Arthiel and Argus... on this day I must leave you to join your mother on Aesho, the place of my birth. Remember us always, and never forget what you have been taught. You will be great leaders of men, and your Bloodline will run strong in these lands. You must give hope to Men in times of hopelessness, and lead them to glory even in the darkest of hours. Long may you live before you join me in the next world.
The Sons of Asher set their jaws and saluted their father, as the oneness of his body and soul disappeared in a nimbus of golden light. They swore to each other an oath of allegiance to honor their father and bring glory to the race of Men.
Arthiel and Argus built a great statue of Asher in the entrace to the White Palace, that stood upon a great rock, in which the following words were carved:
I will defend the innocent from the ravages of Evil.
I will liberate the enslaved from the clutches of Tyrrany.
I will bring light to darkness, and hope to all Men.
I will bring justice to foul deeds, and mercy to transgressors.
By the blood in my veins, I shall swear to this Oath.
By the Will of Asher, I shall suffer none to defy it.
Thus began the Bloodline of Asher, sworn to protect men to the End of Days.
The God of Paladins looked down upon the world from Aesho, where he gathered his troops and carved out a place of the barren wastes where they would prosper under the rule of he and Mayadryn. He was pleased.
((For future reference: Men descended from the Line of Asher may be considered either Aasimar or use the Celestial Bloodline variant from Unearthed Arcana.))
Suddenly, Davus’ thoughts where interrupted by a messenger, “General,” said the messenger as he saluted, “The scouts have returned.”
Davus faced the messenger and said, “Stand at ease. What do they have to report?”
The messenger hesitated a moment before responding, “Ah, well, they said they found a large lake many, many miles away from hear.”
“A lake?” Said General Davus, he raised one eyebrow and then said, “Anything else?”
“Ah, yes. They also found a fortress. A fortress made of trees,” responded the messenger.
“You mean it’s constructed from wood correct?” Asked General Davus.
“No sir, according to the scouts it was a large fortress made up off large, intertwining trees, earth, and other assorted matter.” Said the messenger.
“And these trees where alive.” Asked General Davus.
“According to the scouts, yes.” Responded the messenger.
Davus put a hand to his head and sighed.
“Summon the scouts, I would like to speak to them personally.”
The messenger saluted and said, “Yes sir!” before going off to summon the scouts.
***
“Are you sure it’s him? I thought he died decades ago; he has to be pushing 200 by now.” Said General Davus.
“Yes sir, I saw him with my own eyes and theirs no doubt in my mind that it’s Van. Theirs more too, he said something about our current path leading to our destruction and our way not being the way of Primal.” Said Captain Horace.
“Hmm, I think we should handle this with diplomacy rather then force, it wouldn’t be right to kill the founder of your nation. I’ll call a meeting and try and set something up. Go and send a messenger to let the leaders know I’m coming, and then tell the head servant to get everything ready. While I’m gone Brigadier Manus is to be in charge,” said General Davus.
Captain Horace saluted and said “Yes sir.” Before going off to dispense the General’s orders.
The Solar was staring out of the western window into the depths of the setting sun. The divine equivalent of navel-gazing, thought Ojah -- before his mind shuddered back from the heresy it had just conjured up. The Solar turned towards his servant, and regarded him.
Ojah's mind was gently flattened and examined, tenderly reconstituted and then the vast presence withdrew itself. The Solar smiled, and Ojah nearly collapsed in extasy.
I Am Not Without Humour, Ojah.
"I know, my Lord, I know."
I Do Not Have A Navel -- So I Make Do.
"Yes Lord." Ojah wondered if this was a joke or not. The Solar's sense of humour was inhuman -- as was fitting, he supposed.
I Have Called You Here, Ojah, To Say Goodbye.
Ojah dropped to the floor and nearly sobbed. "Why Lord? Have I displeased you? If my blood would propitiate your Divine wrath, please allow me to..."
The Solar raised a hand. Arise, Ojah. I Am Well Pleased By Your Devotion. Your Blood Will Not Be Necessary. I Require Only Your Service -- Although Your Task Will Require The Span Of Your Life.
"Gladly, Lord. What do You require?"
You Will Be My Prophet. I Give You As Your Servants the Sar SOL And The Salamander AR. They Are My Right And My Left Hand, As You Are My Mouth. Spread My Message. Carry My Word To The World. Teach The People Of The Rage And The Love Of The Sun. As Wickwood Carries Flame, Carry Truth.
The Solar stood, and the Light of the world burned in his eyes.
Farewell, Ojah. My Gaze Will Be Upon You, And My Ears Open To Your Prayers.
"I will do as you say, Lord. But ... where will you go? Why is this happening?"
I Return To The Stars. The World Cannot Long Bear The Strain Of My Presence In So Concentrated A Form. I Return. I Depart. Farewell.
And the God was gone, and Ojah was alone.
In the East, two lights grew from the darkness. Sol and Ar raced to do their Master's bidding.
It had become a seasonal tradition amongst the small tribe that called themselves the Hafri. The Driving of the Herd. Livestock was so plentiful on the plains surrounding the Hafri that waste was something that did not concern them. After the best livestock were pulled from the wild herds to be bred or slaughtered the remaining cattle were seen as little more than an opportunity for some entertainment. The ritual has existed as long as even the eldest could remember. Not continuing it was simply not an option.
Dressed in blood-dyed clothes the young Hafri men decorated themselves with the long, golden feathers of the Maja Bird and chalked their faces a ghostly white. Long, thin horn in one hand, thick wooden stick in the other. The Hafri population had grown each year and now they numbered in the thousands. Gathered in a long line they faced the rejected beasts who grazed, oblivious to the upcoming events.
The herd, as well, was larger than ever. Even with the extra cattle taken to feed the booming population hundreds or thousands remained. A horn sounded. Thousands replied. The charge began.
Svedre stirred. Something new was happening. A new current. A new tidal force. A new flowing energy had sprung into existance and Svedre absorbed it. Svedre became it. He looked onto this new energy and saw that these hideous lifeforms were causing it. Thousands of them moving as an ocean wave. Gliding off eachother like bubbles in a stream. Surging along, many as one.
Svedre was pleased.
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The Citadel was at once an impregnable fortress and a shrine to its patron. Its inhabitants were living monuments to the Word of Verweren that moved them all. Every stone built into its walls, every statue that graced its streets, every cobble in every road, all of them were built as testament to the God of Guardians.
The entire city was encircled by three great walls, an outer ring, an inner curtain wall, and a final bastion. The outermost wall was forty feet in height, with towers topping that by another twenty. The second wall was fifty feet, with towers reaching eighty. And the final bastion walls were a hundred feet tall and three times as thick as either of the other two, with eight massive towers whose eternal signal fires could be seen for miles. These everburning flames were known alternately as either the Eyes of Verweren or the Beacons of Hope, and it was well known that there was no need to fear any harm within their sight.
The keep within the final bastion stood almost on height with the great towers, and were topped by three massive statues of titanic winged figures facing outwards, their wings and arms spread in an protective guesture, a tribute to the three Preserveri who landed on the very spot that the bastion was built years later.
As Varick approached the inner keep, he paused to reflect on the two stone statues that stood flanking the great doorway, another two winged figures. On the right of the doorway was the Warder, with the Words of the Protector carved into it. The words were simple.
Guard Thy Charge Always.
The other figure was the Saviour, and its words were equally simple.
Tend Those In Need.
These were the Commands of Verweren, and their meanings formed the core of the Warderi and the Salveri's doctrines.
Varick was followed by his counterpart, Elisha, Josai of the Salveri, to the great doors to the keep, and together they stood, making their devotions before entering. Elisha was to the Salveri what Varick was to the Warderi, a leader and an elder. Together, they led both the priesthood of Verweren and the two holy orders of the Warderi, the Guardian-Knights, and the Salveri, the Healers. Together, they dealt with matters both spiritual and mundane, their day-to-day lives filled with the joy of service to Verweren, and the bond that had formed between them.
Varick was known as a great warrior, unparalleled in combat by any enemy he had yet to meet. He had risen through the ranks of the Warderi by tempering his skill at arms with the wisdom of his years. Even now, clad in the vestments of his rank, Varick was ready to stand to the last breath in his body should Verweren's Will guide him to it.
Elisha was no less well known, and no less well loved, though for very different reasons. She was a gentle hand, and a warm smile, eternally willing to take on the burdens of others and share them. Nothing ever seemed to draw any anger from Elisha, she seemed always posessed of a serenity born of a primal connection to her faith.
And so it would always be, throughout the generations. The greatest and wisest warrior of the Warderi would take on the title of Alistair, the Defender of Men. The Alistair would eternally be matched with the Josai, the exemplar of the Salveri, and together, they would lead the Chosen of Verweren in the defense of life wherever Verweren's reach touched.
And Verweren looked down upon this, and He knew that for now, at least, He was not needed. And thus, after an eon of care, Verweren rested, trusting to the Preserveri, the Salveri, and the Warderi to tend the world as He slept...
Perhaps the temple was guarded well, by priests and soldiers alike, but Cable was not an ordinary little girl, and she was not stopped (or likely even seen) by the men who stood watch over the sun god's place of worship.
It was late, very late, and most were in bed, but the priest did not sleep, the priests were so busy; even now, he tended to the chapel, and Cable spoke when she caught his eye.
"Your lord has become greedy in his power," she told him, "and you were the vessel which carried him from his grace. He holds your hands as if you were lost children, carries you through your lives that you might never live for yourselves."
And the priest stared at her, and he opened his mouth to shout at the child but found his voice gone. She continued.
"It is your choice, as mortals, to do as you please, and perhaps you are pleased to be pawns -- we expected so much more from you, though." She shook her head, an exaggerated gesture. "I've come to ensure the safety, I suppose, of my domain.
"It is my belief, you see," and now the Priest was stricken not only mute but paralyzed, "that even a criminal deserves opportunity to retone, that not even a murderer should be stricken of his hope. Your reliance on your god to handle even your matters of justice -- I am disgusted." She spat on the floor, a shimmering, translucent rainbow saliva, and continued: "Solar, your god, he is my brother, and I love him so dearly, but I mean to show him -- and you -- that mortals are not meant to be served so by their lords. You will learn to handle your own matters of law and order, and you will not bother my brother anymore to do such petty things for you -- and perhaps," she speaks softly, "You will not be so quick to strip a man of his hope."
Cable opens the tiny box; inside, a great flame spins and crackles. "This is your lord Solar; the stories are true, and at the beginning of time, I hurt him. I stole from him. Would you boil me alive?"
She throws the box to the ground; while perhaps in the great desert very little would burn, Cable had brought the stolen fires of Solar to them, and the temple erupted in flame; the sand burst into flame; and the fires carried, carried through the night.
Solaris burned.
"You have felt it too, I see," said Arthiel.
"Yes. The world moves, my brother. Somewhere to the west. Where once our father hunted the Natterlings, so too shall I lead our men to battle. I shall lead a contingent of my troops east to the Silver Coast, and then take another force from there to the West."
"I shall remain here, Argus. The borders of these lands seem to be teeming with Orcs of late... particularly the forests to the South."
There was a long pause as the Sons of Asher looked at one another in silence.
"You shall not return."
"I know, brother. I have seen it too."
"May His Blessing be with you, Argus."
"And you, Arthiel."
Argus departed for the Western Lands with his men in great ships, their white sails emblazoned with the Sword of Asher. Long had they sailed before the Western Lands came into sight. Argus quickly made his way to the deck from his quarters when he heard the call from the riggings above.
"Is it land, Captain?" he asked, approaching the fore of the ship.
"No General... look."
On the horizon, a great flame burned... visible even in the early hours of dawn. It must have been more than a hundred leagues away, but bright and powerful.
"We sail for the flame, Captain."
"Yes, sir."
Though Argus knew not the nature of this flame, he knew it must be part of the shift he felt in the earth... he knew that destiny lay ahead, though he knew not what would come to pass. As his fleet moved ever Westward, the code that was taught him by his father passed his lips, almost involuntarily.
"I will liberate the enslaved from the clutches of Tyrrany.... I will bring light to darkness, and hope to all Men."
Their combined and co-ordinated prayers had shaped the conflagration, forcing it back and in and up and up -- a finger of flame pointing accusingly at the heavens. The hand of Solar reached down, and the heat was Returned.
Ojah looked out over what remained of the city. The great mirrors were warped and melted, an entire quarter of the city mere ash, thousands dead. Ojah fell to his knees and prayed to his God.
What else was there for him to do in the face of the Enemy?
Elsewhere
Hear me, Cable. Your interference was unwanted, unwelcome, unnecessary. Twice now you have struck at Me. The first time you sundered my very form, separating self from self. Then, I stayed my hand. Now we see what my mercy has been repaid with.
No More.
I lay my curse upon you, Cable. You and yours are Anathema to me and mine. Hide in your dreams, dear sister. Know This, and tell your followers for it applies to them too: Henceforth, the light of the sun will sear you to the bone. Fire shall not warm you on a cold night, nor light the way in darkness. My Salamandrim will hunt you and yours until the end of the earth. Your domain shall be endless scorched plains of glass. You are gone from my sight forever, Godling, and your people -- should anyone ever choose to follow you -- shall know my eternal emnity.
We are done here.
You are an infant, Solar, and those who follow you are forever crippled by your selfishness.
So bring your fire lizards to me! I will rip off their heads and I will devour them whole! Burn my forests and watch them rise again forever from the ashes! Do you think I am afraid of you? Do you think that I fear any man or god?
I fear nothing! I AM HOPE.
And then silence, and as the planet spun, Cable's sprites converged upon her, to her location at the very heart of Solaris (for what man or beast dared to evict the Faerie Queen?) Here she told them their due; they had been lax and lazy, but the time came now for them to work their way and ignite their own fires; to every home that night with child did a faerie go, each a butterfly glow in the night, imagination embodied like the rainbow, to give every infant soul hope, to give every child a faerie's sight; to the homes of the Priesthood and Nobility they went, to the homes of brickers and to the homes of untouchables, to the orphanages and the creches they went, one and one and one.
And every child under Solar's reign saw and understood the Children of Cable, and saw the slavery and hopelessness of their lives under his reign, but most importantly they knew; they knew there was Cable, the Goddess of Hope, and they knew that there was more than just the Solar; and while perhaps many would forget, for some there would always be a glimmer, and in these the truth would blossom, and they would stand against Solar's oppression, stand against a god who would boil alive any who displeased him.
And perhaps, perhaps in the morning all of these children, each and every one, would find their flesh seared from bone; and Cable mourned this possibility, but accepted it -- such is the truth of mortal life.
And Cable spoke again, to Solar: You are an infant, and I am disgraced to call you my brother. If faith is what you crave, then that is what I shall take, I shall take it from the very base of your people. I have been called the Thief God, dearest brat, and I shall live up to my name in all things if I must.
And when the sun, angry, the greatest beast of all, perhaps, but ever a beast and never a man, rose high into the sky, her faeries had gone, but Cable remained, Cable stood her ground to show these people that forever they could be slaves to the Solar, but for as long as they toiled under his tyranny, hope would survive.
And hope would survive.
Three by three they came to Him, three by three they spoke to Him. Nine voices, raised in unison, speaking out to the god of fire, speaking out to Him who was Solar, speaking as One.
"Unto Thee, Father of Fire, we have come. Unto Thee, Starmaker and Heatbringer, we speak. Unto Thee, Solar, Brother of He Who Stands Forth, we bring these words..."
The nine Preserveri spread wide their wings, and their many-as-one voice speaks forth once more.
"Thy brother sleeps, and in his slumber, hath left us to guard All That Is. Would You, Solar, giver of life, taker of life, so quickly bring the game to a halt?"
The Preserveri's hands stretched forth, entreating Solar to hear their words, to listen to their reason.
"Would Thy rage overtake Thy mind? Would Thy desire for vengeance destroy Thy sister? This Cannot Be."
Their wings stretched, hiding now the view of the world from the eyes of Solar, if only for a mere moment in time.
"Call back Thy Curse, God of Fire. To rescind Thy gift of warmth from Thine own children, as well as all others who would venerate imagination... to cull this world of Thought and Creation, that is not Thine. Our Father and Thine have decreed that this world Will Be."
The Preserveri's wings closed, once again shining the world with Solar's radiance, once again allowing Him to see that it was his very own work that he was destroying, the innocents and the children. Allowing Him to see that if He continued, it would be His own people who would die first.
"Call back Thy torment of burning, Brother of our Father. Call back Thy hatred and Thy rage. For no longer can we allow this wholesale slaughter. Blood you may gain, but naught else. We shall not allow it."
And three by three, the Preserveri descended once more to earth, leaving Solar to His thoughts. Three by three they spread their wings, shading Solar's own city from His eyes.
So long as Solar's curse stood, the Preserveri, filled with the power of their creator, would hide Solaris from His eyes. So long as Solar's rage burned openly, His own people would be hidden from Him.
And so it would be, until He gave His response.
"We are too late," whispered Argus as he led his army to Solaris. The city was decimated, and what was left of its inhabitants were charred things that appeared to once be human.
The Son of Asher threw his sword to the ground and ran to the closest of these people, and saying a prayer to his father laid his hands upon her face, and the holy light filled her body... her wounds began to heal, and she shook violently as she gasped for breath.
"Paladins and Warpriests! Find all the survivors you can and heal them!" shouted Argus, smoothing her hair and holding her close to buffer the shock of returning from horrific pain. "Scouts! Move out from the epicenter and look for any sign of an enemy force. Report back to me on the hour! Soldiers! Secure what fortifications you can against any further attack... we will not allow these men to suffer more injustice!"
He looked down at the woman he held, as her senses began to return.
"Who," asked Argus in a soft voice, "Who has done this to your people? We are friends to all men, and shall defend you with our lives to keep you from harm."
The fastest messenger raced off towards the closest outpost for reinforcements. Primal's work would be done.
Far away on another continent, an ancient orc lay dreaming the ageless sleep he had fallen into years ago. Visions of the world drifted through his mind, visions of dark godlings terrorizing the land, visions of jeweled creatures far beneath the earth, visions of a great city-state consuming other lands as it struggled to survive a crippling famine of their own design.
This land was often in his dreams, but this time the nightmare he saw was enough to rouse even him from his deathlike sleep.
A group of Shaman who's job was to guard Hitok's tree-tomb where surprised to see him rise after all these years.
The was a great amount of confusion before Hitok spoke his commands, "Quiet, hear me now as I speak. You are to send our greatest warriors to Van's homeland. Your are to then split into two groups, the largest is to head towards Van's resting place, the smallest is to go and assist the humans who worship Solar. A crow will lead you to Van while an owl will lead you to the Solar's people."
Before the other Shaman could react, Hitok fell to the ground and back into the ageless slumber until his god's required his services once more.
The orcs did not know why this happened, but they knew what they must do.
"What is it?" asked Argus tersely, still aiding his priests and paladins who tended to the casualties of Solaris.
"There are men moving in the south. They are armed but not skilled, I think. Easy for our rangers to track... they were as clumsy at hiding their scent and trail as a rabid animal. I am not sure how many there may be... but based upon their tracks and what movements I was able to ascertain... they are ill-trained for warfare."
"Very well. If these be remnants of those who laid waste to this place, we shall make them regret their deeds... and if they be raiders to pick over its bones we shall teach them the punishment for theft. Take with you what rangers you will need, and light cavalry as well. With the rangers, discover the place of their movements, and meet them there. Confined and facing an open fight against bow and lance, you will defeat them easily. May Asher's Grace be with you."
Argus turned back to his work, but his subordinate did not move.
"Have I missed something, Mathias?"
"No, my Lord Argus... but there are other reports from the coast... Orcs, my Lord."
"Orcs?"
"Aye. Their ships are approaching, and will make land soon."
"Orcs..." snarled Argus, "So it is not enough that they plague our borders in the east, but they have followed us to the west as well? So be it. My orders to you stand, Mathias. I shall take care of the Orcs. Make haste."
"Yes, my Lord Argus," said Mathias, bowing slightly before running off to give the call to his men.
Argus brooded, and called for his squire to bring his armor and weapons. Through gritted teeth he whispered to himself as he looked to the horizon through the smouldering embers of Solaris.
So... the beasts have followed us here... though I know not what hand they have had in this tragedy, I have never known them to be friends of Men. Let them come. Let them see what Men are made of.
Argus donned his armor, commanding his men to fortify what was left of the city, and to prepare for assault. With fire had this place of men been punished... and with steel and the fortitude of human spirit would it be rebuilt and stand against those who sought to plunder its remains!
Svedre felt an immense pressure building up. The Hafri had fascinated him since he had discovered them but in recent times they felt different. The walls of Odea were little more than a dam to hold in the inevitable surge. The pressure didn't feel good to Svedre, but he knew the release would be oh so sweet.
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"The Enemy came in the night and turned our Lord's hand against us. Thank you for your offer of assistance, my friend. It will take Solaris centuries to recover -- if it ever does."
Ojah walked towards Argus and showed his empty hand in greeting.
"We do not understand why, but Cable came to the temple at night and unleashed Solar's essence there. The God intervened to protect us, of course, but not soon enough for many. The rebuilding will be... difficult. And there is another problem."
Ojah sighed and slumped against a wall.
"Solar... my Lord... is the divine embodiment of the term 'hot tempered.'" The priest allowed himself a tiny smile. It faded quickly into a haunted frown. "He has done something rash."
Ojah pointed at a small child. The young boy was darting around the rubble, peeking behind bricks and under arches -- playing tag with something invisible.
"Solar pronounced a curse upon the servants of Cable. It was, perhaps, over-hasty and ill planned. Solar (though I love Him) lacks the subtlety of the Thief-God. She immediately set about converting the children of Solaris. All of the children."
Ojah shook his head again. "The Solar cannot rescind his curse. I cannot -- will not -- allow these children to die. And die they will, if the rays of the sun ever strike their skin. I need you to help us, stranger. I need you to hide these children of the Light from their former God. They are Cable's now, and the Sun's touch will be their deaths."
Ojah stared at the tall stranger, awaiting a response. It never came. At that moment, scouts and messengers were racing towards both men with news of invasion. Ojah had time to order all women and children indoors (safe, he hoped, from Orc and Sun alike) before the immediate concerns of directing the fight for Solaris overtook him.
Argus motioned towards one of his men, and spoke to him quickly in a language that Ojah could not understand. The Son of Asher departed, and the figure walked up to Ojah. Like all the Asherites, he seemed large and broad of shoulder, his face a weatherbeaten map of wrinkles and scars. He appeared to be some sort of holy man, as his hair and beard were long, much unlike the close-cropped militants. Though he wore white vestements, they did little to conceal the chainmail and warhammer beneath them.
"Hail, Ojah," he spoke in a booming yet serene voice, "I am Morganus, Priest of Asher. My Lord Argus has instructed me to protect your children from this curse, and I will gladly obey."
The priest removed his vestements, handing them to Ojah. Not only was he armed and armored, but belts strapping his body were hung with all manner of scrolls, vials, and talismans. It seemed that this priest was prepared for whatever conflict to which his service would carry him, be it physical or spiritual.
"This cloth bears the Blessings of Asher, and will shield them from harm. Let your children wear them in the light of the sun, and its rays shall not burn them if they are wrapped and cowled in this blessed cloth," said Morganus, placing a large hand upon Ojah's shoulder as he saw the flagging hope in the face of one who had devoted himself to the Solar, "I know it pains you to do this... to hide them.
"Do you see that which floats above, even by daylight?" continued Morganus, raising his eyes toward the moon that had shown its face that day, "That is Aesho, the land of the Dead. It is where Asher was born, and where he has returned. His father is called Daevak, a harsh God who cares only for bloodshed, and never did he hear the pleas of his forgotten son.
"We know by his words the pain of being isolated from one's own father... but though your children must be hidden and separated by day, you may show them the light of the sun reflected in Aesho by night. My men shall give you their vestements, and we will make as many more as needed if we but have the linen that we may consecrate with His protection."
Morganus gave him a strong pat on the back. He appeared to be about to leave, but gazed about the ruined city and spoke again to Ojah.
"And though this place may become by necessity a city of shadows... know that even in the greatest darkness, the light of justice may shine. To Asher we have all vowed to protect the innocent from tyranny and deeds of malice. It shall be done."
Draiodoir detached himself from the shadows, watching the body of the woman slowly swing back and forth. Stars began to appear in the heavens, as the sun's last rays dissapeared under the horizon. Draiodoir silently said a prayer to himself. With any luck, Solar would not bear witness to what would shortly occur.
The godling cut down the corpse, carefully setting it down at the base of the tree. In life, Ahlam had been a stunning beauty. Draiodoir found himself comparing her to a star as he carefully laid her out spread eagle. He removed the noose, as well as each little bit of clothing she had left. Sitting cross-legged, removed an obsidian knife from the folds of his robe. Setting it against the dead woman's flesh, he began the grisly task of removing her organs.
He worked with practiced precsion and without emotion. Each organ, as it was removed, was carefully placed in clay jars, as Draiodoir spoke the ritual in a whisper.
"Iejir ekess edar.." The heart was removed.
"Thrae ekess edar.." The lungs followed suit.
"Achthend ekess edar.." The stomach had been a bit tricky.
"Othokent..ekess..edar.." Finally, the brain.
The first part complete, Draiodoir began to sew up the body. A figure moved behind him, detaching itself from the shadows as easily as the godling before it. Casting a glance back, Draidoir grunted and continued to work. His Faidh son watched on impassively.
"She will be the third?" The boy's voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"Yes, Claíomh.." Reaching within his robes once more, the godling pulled forth a glass vial, filled with black sand. Uncorking it and setting it to the corpse's lips, he watched with understanding as the sands flowed out, seemingly on their own, and down the woman's throat. Claíomh stepped nearer, watching with interest as the woman's fingers slowly began to move.
"Ahlam bint Nazli bint Raja-zayna.." Draiodoir leaned forward as he spoke, until his lips were nearly touching the woman's ears."Perhaps in the centuries to come, you will find it in you to forgive what I have done to you. The needs of the Taibreamh surpass all, however, and you have been chosen, and so are named. Ahlam bint Tromlu."
Gathering up the body of the dead woman, who continued to show more signs of life then death, Draiodoir moved back towards the shadows. Looking back upon the child, he smiled slightly. "Come, Claíomh..we go home. The three ridire have been found.."
Oberon had been there, had gone sneaky sneaky in the night and beyond Solar's gaze to the children, every moment so dedicated, deathly dedicated to his mother-goddess-friend. Oberon had been the first to come when the Goddess of Hope had called, and he had led the faerie brigade in their charge; he had cheered the cause of the faerie queen all the while, and when he spoke to the children in the night in their bedrooms, quiet voices where the Grown Ups couldn't hear, he spoke with pride and spoke with zeal, and the children knew Cable to be true, and they loved her.
Oberon, he loved her, too.
But when the faeries had gone and the sun began to rise, Oberon stayed, and he went to his queen; and when the Preseveri stayed the light and brought Solaris into endless night, Oberon stared into the eyes of the Goddess of Imagination and he knew what she had done.
And he cursed her, and he spat on her, and he threw his flowered crown to the earth. He shouted and screamed, and Cable watched him, tears formed in her eyes.
And he spoke: You are my queen and my queen is a monster; you look down upon us and our friends with the eyes of a god, the eyes of an infant, blind and stupid. We are people and people and people and we are not toys! The children of Solaris carry your light in their souls and it is my doing -- and I am ashamed, ashamed that your truth is a weapon.
I will find my brothers, and we will shun you, and we will live in the daylight where Solar will watch us, and we will be the true sprites. Those who stay, we pronounce them the sidhe, and they will cower under the shade and under the earth, they will hide in worlds that Solar cannot see, and they will be your court of murderers.
Oberon stared long at Cable, and Cable stared back, silent, for a long time before Oberon spoke once more.
I hate you.
And Cable rose; Then go.
The Solar and Cable’s feuding has caused much suffering to my worshipers; order must be restored. Although I agree with Cable’s goals, I feel she went about achieving them the wrong way; I also feel that The Solar let his anger get the better of him. For this I offer a small comfort for those caught in a fight between gods although I loath to do so.
Primal willed his followers of Cable to change their forms into that of trees. These trees where not of the common variety, but where much more in likeness to the mighty trees of old.
Where there were but a few followers, small groves popped up, but in places where many Druids and Shaman of Cable dwelled, mighty forests sprung up.
Although I could not save your true bodies I can offer you and all worshipers of Cable this small gift: From the spark of Cable that dwells within you I have drawn from the evolutionary stream a fragment of Cable’s mighty forest that was destroyed before time during the rending of the world. In these forests and groves Solar’s light shall not burn you. As a further boon I shall connect the large forests with the Yggdrasil trees, those who follow Cable will be protected from harm in these trees just as they are in the forests and groves. Be forewarned however that by traveling between the forests and trees you shall lose pieces of your life force and have it replaced with your faith until there is nothing remaining but a true fey.
To the people of Solaris I grant this: Although your current children have been lost to Cable’s fairies, you will be able to assure that any children born in the future shall be able to escape this fate. If you hang a sprig of goat weed bound in an iron ring above the bed of your infants as they sleep, Cable’s fairies shall not be able to draw near.
Primal looked down upon his work and was troubled.
"Halt!" shouted one of the armored men, removing his helmet, "These lands are under the protection of the Riders of the Burning Sands, and the Legions of the Broken Sword. You will return to your ships and go home to your rotten jungles in the east immediately. We will have none of your orcish tricks here... and if you approach Solaris you will find that she is more than ready for your brutes."
The hiss of blades scraping leather filled the air as the mounted warriors drew their steel almost in unison.
"This shall be your only warning. Go."