The cool airs of the Great South Sea were billowing through the sails of the Silver Maiden. Beside the galley, a raven had flown for several days eastward. It rested occasionally on the ship's mast. Although the men at first assumed the bird a bad omen, after many days, their minds had changed of the white raven. Now, Captain Maxmillian and his crew trusted the bird to guide them through even the Place Between. Again the bird perched to rest, this time upon the ship's starboard rail.
"So, yer sayin' that the reason why I always lose in dice to the cap' is cause of this war the gods fought long ago?"
"Don't ye know Marius, losers lose. 'Tis yer calling in this life!"
"Shut the hell up Hetra!"
The sailors sat in a small circle near the starboard bow. Among them was a squalor of lazuli stains and the pungent smell of fish. Corpses littered the deck with porters and cabin boys cleaning the bodies off the floor.
They were hung above by ropes and drained of their lazuli blood into thick barrels for storage. Some of the older sailors picked the claws and teeth off of the Lizardmen corpses, to take as trophies or perhaps sell as trinkets to gullible landfolk. One sailor even boldly sat himself atop the corpse of a particularly muscled lizardman. Although others resented the choice, for his clothes would surely reek of the slime and stink of fish for months.
This was the third raid by the Lizardmen they had endured in the past month of sailing. The men were presently resting after their latest victory, although some rambunctious sailors verged on wrestling.
"Now, now," said Trenewynn, "there's no need for contests. To be exact, Marius, the story tells us how Victory came to triumph over Defeat, and why Justice always wins in the end."
Trenewynn sat calmly, feeding a scrap of fishy flesh to the pale corvid beside him. The other sailors huddled around to hear his stories.
Marius let his eyes squint and his forehead wrinkle as he struggled to comprehend the sandwalker vagrant's words.
"I still don't get it… Explain it again, sandwalker!"
Trenewynn chuckled, "alright, there's no need to shout. The story begins like this…"
T'was in the days before the first age dawned that there was a great war between the gods: those who followed EX'ÁOMË, and those who were deceived by R̄ësha, who became known as the Haraush'teth–the Horned Gods. This war they called the War of Choice, for t'was here that the decisions of gods shaped the freedom of the realms.
Among the Lesser Gods–servants of Yrell who was Justice, and of Asur who was War–there were two gods known as Elarithon and Omenoth. Elarithon was called the Word Once Given, and his sworn brother was Omenoth, whom we know as The Victor. Each had a task in the domain of their lords which was entrusted to them. Omenoth was the Head of the Triumphs, responsible for leading the hosts of Asur in celebration after victory.
—"And Elarithon?"
"Pardon?"
"What did Elarithon do for Yrell?"
"Ah, he was the Lord of the Old Way of Justice–before we had laws, customs, and procedures. The first tradition of justice was his, and t'was his responsibility to uphold the oaths and promises of men and gods. He ensured that a word once given would be kept."
Marius turned to Hetra, "Y'ere that Hetra! Yer gonna get a damn beatin' for that fat lie y'told me about the sea lizards the other day!"
Hetra struggled to contain his laughter. He was failing.
"If I may ask, what exactly did he tell you…?"
"The son-of-a—"
"Please explain without crudeness, if you may."
The rough sailor clicked his tongue and spat a wad onto the lizardman corpse which he sat upon.
"Yer no fun sandwalker… Anyways, that dog of a man told me that a sea lizard's blood when rubbed on the skin makes it healthier and cleaner–like a fine maiden's perfume."
"…And you believed that?"
This time Hetra truly could not help laughing out loud.
"Ye'stupid idiot! Ye actually thought Ye'd smell like roses!"
"Shut the hell up Hetra! That Elãrithon or whatever shall smite ye!"
Trenewynn interjected, "unfortunately, that is not likely to happen anymore."
"Whaddya mean it won't happen!?"
"Well, listen, and I'll explain it… Now then, where was I?"
These two gods came to form a friendship after vanquishing Heŕzeth, the Demon of Defeat.
The deadly Haraush'teth conjured from each of its four arms, a meteor to strike the earth. His breath–of fire and fear conjoined and inseparably perverted towards dominion. Each time his caprine hooves struck the earth they caused it to pulse like a bloated heart ready to burst. His flattish tail– emblazoned by the bristles of an ox at its end, whipping the flesh from bone with a flick! And the winding, twisting torso that stretches, rolls and turns about like a whirlwind. How the dark Demon of Defeat brought despair to the gods. Yet not to Victory and not to Justice. With his golden spear, Omenoth pierced the side of Heŕzeth– and wielding a sword of white metal Elarithon beheaded the vile Haraush'teth. So did Victory and Justice overcome Defeat.
To celebrate this achievement, the two swore an oath of brotherhood. Omenoth and Elarithon let their bloods conjoin, and vowed to keep each other as comrades forever–never to harm one another. But times of yore's glory passed into legend and again into myth. When the War of Choice had ended and the armies raised by R̄ësha's machinations were banished into the dark corners of the earth, Omenoth and Elarithon reposed in the kingdom of heaven above the Terra.
"Wait a minute!"
Trenewynn paused and looked at the face of Marius, which was glistening with sweat and bending in a spiral of confusion.
"I don't get it… So these guys–Omenoth and Elarithon–they killed this demon and now that's why winners win?"
"I know it may seem confounding in our current age, but in those days, the world was more… fluid. Take a look at this vast sea, can you tell where one wave ends and another begins?"
"Not really, the waves come and go, don't they?"
"Precisely! Now, what would happen if I erected a great dam here, or if a mountain was tossed into this sea, would that not change the current and alter the shape of the waves?"
"I suppose… but it would depend on the mountain and it would depend on the mood of the sea."
"Just so. Now, imagine that life itself was an ocean. All the victories, defeats–its trials and tribulations–all of it! But 'tis each no more than the passing of one wave or another. Defeat rolls over you like the sea—and so does victory. But now imagine we place a barrier between victory and defeat. Thus, the flow of life is altered, and what was once inseparable becomes distinct. 'Tis like the difference between one sea and another. This is how Omenoth and Elarithon changed the way we understand victory and defeat."
Despite his best attempts however, it seemed evident that Marius could not grasp what Trenewynn was trying to say.
Trenewynn shrugged and let his hand rise to pat the raven beside him, "well, 'tis no serious matter if you need time to understand it. After all, one who learns slowly shall better recall the details than one who is swift. Take your time to think about it while I continue my story…"
Centuries passed, by then the first king of Aurumere had been born. Essrethet the Silver, the Primordial Dragon of Silver, told a prophecy to Pygmalion, whom She then dubbed Providence,. It said that he would lead the Demigods to the Samsinurimatu in the far west, and settle a kingdom there for fourteen generations. Then the Aurians would fall, and their line would diminish. Yet although Providence was afraid and uttered that he did not want his line to end, Essrethet assured him that there was hope in his fate.
This prophecy by Essrethet had greatly disturbed Heaven, for in so giving it to Providence, Essrethet had defied THE ONE. But although Her actions had gone against the wisdom of EX'ÁOMË, even so, HE did not punish Her. Instead, t'was Omenoth who so boldly came before Essrethet in the land of Alanor and demanded that She give him a prophecy that he might prove Her powers false.
Elarithon urged his brother not to act so, but The Victor–being so supremely undefeatable–was too confident and proud to listen.
To Essrethet, Omenoth proclaimed boldly, "Lady of Sliver, I come with my brother to hear my prophecy told. Let me hear you recount the endlessness of my victories!"
He thought himself to be sly as an imp when saying this, for surely he would never know defeat. This gave Omenoth the confidence to believe that Essrethet would be unable to speak his future. But contrary his expectations, Her answer was chillingly brief.
"Omenoth, Head of the Triumphs… your brother shall lead you to death. It shall be in the jaws of a great wolf."
Then, her silver eyes settled onto the other, "Elarithon, Lord of the Old Way… you shall be betrayed and die upon the terra, consumed by Shadow."
Yet when both of these prophecies were said, Omenoth bellowed in laughter. His head flung back and chest puffed heartily as he cackled openly in the hall. Bold and defiant was Omenoth, yet Elarithon worried for Her words. Their elusive meanings frightened him.
Soon after the War of Choice, demons began to populate the Terra alongside mortals. Their earliest descendants included many creatures of unnatural union. Born of the mixing with mortals and fell gods, half-bred creatures took shade beneath dark forest canopies and in the bowels of the earth. Among them were minotaurs, centaurs, satyrs, the Kar-folk, Kobolds, and many other monsters of the world.
"Damn, you mean to say that demons were once men like us!? That sounds like a load of horse shi—"
"Not quite… Marius. Do try to manage your foul language. 'Tis not endearing to anyone."
"Why would I endear myself to yer lot, a bunch of smelly men? What the hell does it mean to say that they're 'not quite' like us? Are they or are they not?"
"'Tis complicated. Demons and Men share common descendants, that is all. But they diverged from their parentage. In the Book of Origins, a story is told on how the Haraush'teth who followed R̄ësha eventually settled in the south. There, they took to breeding with the mortal species of the world, including humans and elves in some cases, and as a consequence, created the lesser demons that we know of today."
"How foul!"
Trenewynn sighed, "indeed. The Book states that they bred until their sweat and rank had soaked the earth and turned the soil to mush. A great swamp had been made of their ill works, which became the Gray Bogs beyond the South Sea that is now the land of Kar'kasha. In a sense, the lesser demons are pitiful forms of once innocent creatures. Their corruption was a tragedy engineered by The Deceiver, R̄ësha."
"How did The Deceiver manage to trick so many of the gods into such vile conduct?"
"It began when he told the first lie. He came in fair form and endeared himself to the gods first. Before then, all that had ever been was the truth. Although some suspected, none ever truly understood yet that R̄ësha could simply speak something into Being that was absent of truth. How could they have known?"
"But was all it took a simple lie to make the gods so deceived become hideous beasts?"
"T'was more than that. After the lie, R̄ësha persuaded those who believed him to manifest themselves on the Terra. They took on forms of flesh of which he was the architect, but there was a trick. For the flesh he made was wrought full of ill desires, and these changed the gods to make them lustful and base."
"How sinister… what a malevolent mind ye'd need to architect such a horror."
"Are there any further questions, or may I proceed with the story?"
Hetra interjected, "yeah Marius, stop interrupting the story!"
With a sigh Trenewynn continued before the two sailors could fight again…
There was one particular demon spawn that was hunted to the verge of extinction. Omenoth slew every member of the dire wolf species he could find. He hunted them day and night, returned to Heaven with talismans of their severed ears or a fist full of their heads to thump upon the table where Elarithon sat in peace.
All in his efforts to prove false Essrethet's prophecy, and claim himself as the one who triumphed over fate. He came to his brother Elarithon with an offer, for Omenoth had discovered the location of the last Òhrnír—one of the Great Wolf Demons that were born from the War of Choice.
Although Elarithon worried for Omenoth's overconfidence, he ventured down to the Terra with Omenoth to hunt the Òhrnír despite his fears. When they graced the physical world, a span of trumpets was their following, for the Triumph had come to earth. Then, they journeyed into the dark together—through the deep caverns of the earth. They found within the earth's deep bosom the one called Sidji, who was the Demon of Regret.
A great battle ensued, and Elarithon was struck by the wolf's maw upon his right arm. But Omenoth's spear struck true and the wolf was slain.
At its side was a small pup, a dire wolf. Omenoth desired that the wolf be slain, yet Elarithon urged him against this action. He implored the wolf to be spared, and vowed to take it as his own. Since Omenoth had sworn no harm upon his brother, he set down his spear. But he warned that Elarithon's choice was that of a defeated man, not a victor.
The pup was scorned by many upon their return. The gods looked at it with suspicion and revulsion. Some questioned Elarithon's wisdom to bring it into Heaven. But these doubts were assuaged by THE ONE, who allowed Elarithon to raise the wolf in his private holdings.
Nathranír was the name which he bestowed to the wolf; The One Who Devours. For the wolf ate so heartily of his pantry that he could not help but name it as such. Yet its great size and appetite concerned the host of Heaven. The Lords above grew restless and afraid. Many asked that the wolf be bound for the safety of Heaven.
These fears Elarithon explained to Nathranír, who said, "Come then, take a collar to my neck, and bind it to a cord of leather. Let this serve to ease others who would fear me, and distinguish me from those wolves of the wild earth."
But Elarithon had no such collar or cords to give. Thus, he called upon his brother Omenoth, who crafted one from metal.
Nathranír was concerned upon hearing of the collar's origin, and knowing its make was of metal instead of cloth. But Elarithon ushered him closer, for the Word Once Given should not be broken, and Omenoth had given his word to Elarithon. To honor the wolf's faith, Elarithon placed his hand within Nathranír's jaw, and said, "if I should deceive you, then may the hand that has wrought injustice be taken from me as punishment."
Thus assured, the wolf rested his great paws to the ground and lowered his head to present his neck to Elarithon, whom he trusted.
But when the collar had latched shut, it bound the wolf in great chains. Omenoth had lied, and so doing he had made a liar of Elarithon. Nathranír witnessed as Omenoth stepped forth–spear in hand to vanquish him. He howled to Elarithon, "you lied!" He exclaimed. But for his part, Elarithon was shocked.
For the sake of his brother, for his friend, and for his word, Elarithon could do but one thing. He confessed:
"I lied," he said.
There was a pause and then—a fury. Then came the crunch of flesh and bone as Elarithon's right arm was taken by the wolf. Omenoth moved as if to make the killing blow, but Elarithon struck first. The pale metal of his sword slid leanly through the wolf's eye, its surface stained with red. Nathranír was dead, and so followed the death of all promises spoken round the world.
Then THE ONE appeared.
HE took Elarithon into the Hall of Judgement, and listened.
As punishment, Elarithon was exiled from Heaven, and Omenoth was found not guilty. For he had vowed not to harm the wolf and through Elarithon's grace, he had kept his promise in truth, though not in spirit.
The Lord of the Word Once Given accepted his penance, and fell to the Terra in a frail form that would be bound to suffer illness, hunger, and death. In Elarithon's absence, all oaths–which had been ruined–were then paused until a suitable replacement could arise to take his place in Heaven.
So it was…
The raven now sat on Trenewynn's lap as he fed it little specks of food. The deck was all cleaned now, Marius had to find a new seat even after the lizardman corpse he sat upon was taken by the deckhands.
He furrowed his brows, "I still don't get it…"
"Of course ye don't ye oaf! Yer never gonna get it!"
"Shut up Hetra!"
Finally, the captain intervened, "quiet ye feebleminded fools! Get back to work, the break has passed… and you, sandwalker, get back in storage. There's a ship coming up on the horizon an' the last I need is yer face stickin' like a sore thumb!"
Trenewynn shook his head in dismay and released the white raven back into the air, letting it fly off.
"As you say captain. I'll wait down below."
With a last look into the distance, Trenewynn noted the large silhouettes of bestial giants–the Karfolk. A slaver's ship lay ahead of them.