Saturday, August 08, 2009

Chains

08/08/2009

The following was my entry for the Dark Elf cultural horror story competition for the Convocation of Coraesine Field event.

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I am often asked, by those unfamiliar with this story, whether it is true. The answer is yes, it is true, as all such tales are, whether or not the events in them ever happened.

This is a tale from Before. Before Sharath, before the Conflagration that bore Sharath, and before the Fall that bore the Conflagration. In this time, the Unbound were still our allies, and the Keening Spire had not yet begun to weep. The First Born dwelled within the City, and within the City dwelled Varen.

Varen was young, as his people reckon age, merely a few years removed from the completion of his Trials, and now apprenticed as a carnifex, one who renders the dead into their useful components, and discards only the inutile portions as carrion.

This was a valued profession, as resources in the far south are few, and there is too much of worth even in the deceased to allow it to rot in the soil or in the stomach of scavengers. More than merely necessary, though, it was a sought-after apprenticeship, as who can gain Ascension when one is bound to one’s fleeting mortality? The carnifex, more so than even a veteran of the warrior societies, was inured to the flesh, to sentimentality, for they had no choice but to become so.

It was a role perfectly suited to Varen. Nothing valuable escaped his keen eye, and no waste was countenanced by his keen hands and the consummate skill with which he wielded the blades, saws, and mills of his profession. The Masters of his art looked upon his work with quiet approval, and merely a year into his apprenticeship, he was granted the right to work without the supervision of the the Elders.

One morning, he pulled back the canvas covering the body before him, and for the first time in the commission of his duties, Varen paused.

Before him lay Anilasa, who had been born nearly to the moment he had, a rare occurrence amongst the people, whose children are few and far between. They had entered the Trials simultaneously, passed them effortlessly, and she had possessed skill in her arts to equal his, excepting that hers lay in the wielding of blades against the living rather than the dead.

They had admired each other greatly - too much, perhaps, but such pride was common in the young, and often faded on its own as wisdom grew. It was assumed by those who observed such things that they would one day petition for and be granted procreative rights, as the union of such blood could only strengthen the First Born.

Her patrol had carried her into the city at daybreak, and had delivered her immediately to the carnifex, for she had been slain by one of the Nameless Children, from whose mortal wounds no liturgy of resurrection could offer solace.

Varen attempted to steel himself and begin the rites of incision, to no avail. He forced himself through all the disciplinary mantras, yet will and focus fled from him like smoke.

In the end, he put the corpse aside, and called upon his Master. He requested leave, in order to meditate more fully upon his duty, and it was granted. Such a thing was not uncommon when a carnifex first worked upon one he was familiar with. As was usual in these cases, Anilasa’s flesh would be preserved until Varen’s return, so that he could prove his discipline when next he wielded his blades.

Returning home, Varen contemplated his next course of action. In his labors, he had wrested many secrets from the dead. He had learned of an anchorite who had once touched the power of Fash’lo’nae, and, resonating with terrible understanding, had left the city for a life of isolation in order to keep his brethren safe. Torn halfway between mortality and Ascendancy, he had become a conduit of dangerous and forbidden knowledge.

Before the horizon had lit, Varen had begun his journey.

The anchorite had foretold his arrival, and what it would mean, and attempted to ward his visitor from his home. Varen, however, knew the Words of Breaking, and was not delayed.

At first, the hermit resisted questioning, for he knew the answers, and the danger within them. Varen, however, knew the Words of Compulsion, and thus the anchorite had no choice but to speak.

He told Varen that the only recourse was to forge a pact with one of the Adversaries, for they held a compact with the Children, and only they could bargain for the souls they kept from the Ebon Gate. Even then, he warned, there would be a price, for none of their race serve others without first serving themselves.

And, in this instance, he told Varen, only Oleani could assist him.

Varen recoiled at that name, but quickly recovered his composure. He demanded to know why it must be Her. Of the Adversaries, few were as dangerous, as eager to bind the First Born to their flesh, to animal instinct, never to Ascend.

The anchorite held Varen’s gaze, and explained that none would help a mortal who did not hold something of value to them, and what Varen held in him would slake none of their thirsts but Hers.

He told Varen to remember, that her power does not bind us. Her danger lies in seducing us into binding ourselves. That is why, should you succeed in making this pact, Anilasa will live once more, but you must never touch her again. Not once, no matter how lightly, no matter how briefly.

Varen accepted this, thinking it a small price to pay for her return.

The hermit gave him instructions on how to walk the secret ways that led to her realm, and Varen committed them to memory.

He convinced himself that this was needed, that to do otherwise would be robbing his people of her talents, that her children would be strong, even if they could not be his as well. Indeed, with as few children as are delivered to the First Born, could they even afford a loss such as this? If he must feign personal desire to convince Oleani to assist him, then that is what he would do.

And the easiest lies to believe are those one tells oneself.

Varen could not say how long the journey lasted nor how far he wandered, for the path he trod was as much spirit as dross. The passage of the moon and sun soon gave way to a grey empyrean, from which a vague glow emanated, though no celestial body could be seen. Finally, upon cresting the lip of a vast crater that had punctured the deep red stone of the wasteland, he saw that he had arrived.

Before him stood the enemy’s citadel, a misshapen thing, a cyclopean tumor erupting from the landscape. As he looked upon it from his vantage, he could see the outer walls flex and strain at points, as if something enormous were held within, testing the resilience of its prison.

He willed himself to move forward, with each step having to remind himself of his purpose for doing so. The closer to the citadel, the more his eyes picked up on its methodical beating, and the shrill keen it emitted, sounding like nothing less than a legion of discordant birth cries.

There was no entryway, merely a smooth outer skin. As he lifted his hand to touch it, a tear formed in the wall and folded back on itself, allowing him ingress. Stepping inside, the membrane sealed itself behind him.

The interior struck him with an oppressive humidity. No surface escaped the omnipresent moisture, and only the odd texture of the floor allowed him to walk upright. Ahead, more walls parted, beckoning him onwards.

In the shadows writhed forms not meant to be seen by the eye, and within the translucent walls themselves pulsed arcane fluids. From the unseen ceiling hung glistening amniotic sacs, ceaselessly disgorging unidentifiable creatures, which would fall to the ground and quickly scuttle out of sight.

At last, the path opened onto what could only be an audience chamber. Cavernous, it receded into blackness, with only the area immediately surrounding him illuminated by the sourceless sanguine glow. Ahead sat a dais of sorts, polished ivory, rising from the ground as if grown there. Atop it, flanking either edge, were two demons, identical in almost every aspect of appearance and demeanor, including the innumerable thorns that burst from their skin. The sole exception was their eyes. Though both wielded an intense blue gaze, the eyes of one were acutely sorrowful, from which an unending stream of tears flowed, while those of the other were manic, crazed to the limits of sanity in their apparent joy.

A voice, seductive, yet mocking, rose from all around Varen, welcoming the First Born to her sanctum.

From obscurity, a form rose from the floor between the two monstrous attendants, seeming to somehow...unfold in front of him. Her tall form dwarfed those beside her, and was both wondrous and terrible to behold. Her features were exquisite and her flawless skin was faintly luminous, exposed as it was in its entirety, but her movements seemed wrong to him, almost disjointed.

Though he had never seen her incarnate before, Varen instinctively knew that he now addressed Oleani herself.

The Adversary spoke, and though she stood before him now, the words once more reverberated from his surroundings. She demanded to know why he had approached her, as the First Born rarely parleyed with her people.

He explained in great detail why he had sought this audience. As he spoke of Anilasa, he began with his usual reserve, but as he continued, he found restraint harder and harder to achieve. Words flowed from his mouth, effusive in their praise for his dead friend, recalling details about her he had not even realized he remembered. And still he continued, until he realized that he had lost control of his own actions, the fervency of his appeal providing its own momentum. He could feel himself weakening, as the flame of his desire was stoked and fanned until it filled him to bursting, even as it was being siphoned from him.

The more he spoke, the more Oleani’s smile widened, until she was wearing a rictus that nearly split her face in two. As his energy waned, hers waxed, and her luminosity increased exponentially.

It was then, on the verge of collapse, that he could see the truth of what stood before him. Now illuminated, the twisted cords that extended from her into the darkness above were finally visible. These myriad, viscous funiculi supported her body, and twitched and spasmed for every motion she made.

This was not Oleani, but merely a marionette of sorts, an organ designed specifically to communicate with lesser beings. And it was then that he realized.

He was not standing before Oleani, but within her.

The power, the monstrosity of this Adversary struck him fully then, bringing him an understanding of her nature that decades of study had not, and indeed could not have. The shock of this revelation proved to be precisely the catalyst he needed to arrest his frenzied monologue, and he was able to finally reassert dominance over his own heart and mind.

As his breath returned, he asked what she had done to him. The voice once again resounded through the chamber, telling him that, in fact, it had done nothing at all, that it did not create desire, merely elicited what was already there.

Varen was incredulous, convinced that she had been controlling his thoughts and emotions. Her effigy, however, merely looked upon him, bemusement painted across its features.

Her voice informed him that the payment had been acceptable, that the deal would now be struck.

Her two most loyal minions, the twin demons Loss and Anathema, known in the Old Tongue as Laethe and Voaris, approached, moving in perfect synchronicity. Each gripped his forearm, then twisted to expose his wrist. In unison, they each took one talon and incised two intersecting circles into his flesh. As blood welled, they both leaned forward and pressed their lips against the mark, the skin sealing beneath the warmth of their touch. And though the laceration was gone, Varen could still feel it, as if instead of healing, the wound had merely sunk beneath his skin, like a predator, lurking.

And Oleani’s carnal puppet spoke one final time, telling him that the pact was made, and he was free to go.

As he left the citadel, he passed an area he had not seen on the way in. Through the walls, he could see a row of Her servitors, squat and bestial, toiling over countless anvils. Their hammers rose and fell rhythmically, and Varen could see that each was forging a single link in an immense iron chain. As he strode by the doorway, the thralls lifted their heads, unceasing in their labor, and followed him with their vacant eyesockets, their labored breath drawn hungrily through their leering grins.

The invisible mark beneath Varen’s wrist throbbed, and his steps, already hurried, quickened even more until he stood beneath the sun once again.

The fugue that gripped him on the journey towards the Adversary’s bastion also gripped his mind on the journey back. By the time he approached the City again, he was not entirely sure that his wanderings had not been imagined.

However, the news awaiting him upon his return belied the phantasmagoric nature of his travels, for Anilasa was alive once more.

Rarely does a body in queue for the carnifex rise of its own accord, and never had a victim of the Nameless Children done so, and thus she was studied for signs of undeath, possession, and any number of conditions that might explain her impossible vitality. Their inquiries uncovered nothing sinister, however.

On the chance that they had missed something, she was kept from her former patrols, for both her and their safety. As the one most familiar with her, Varen was instructed to stay close to her and observe, to watch for any sign that she was not who she once was. She would be assigned as his assistant until such time as she was deemed uncorrupted. If any suspected he was complicit in her new condition, lack of evidence kept them silent.

Her new proximity did not concern him overmuch. After all, he had not forgotten the anchorite’s warning, and the taboo itself was simple enough. He was pleased simply to have her near again.

That he even felt such pleasure was the first sign of his erosion.

Varen learned quickly that self-control was far easier to achieve when temptation was not at arm’s length. What was simple at first became increasingly difficult. Days turned to weeks turned to months, until every moment near her felt to him like an eon.

He recalled every word of the effusive praise for Anilasa that had poured from him in his audience with Oleani, and this alone was challenging to wrestle with, but it was as nothing next to his realization that even that mania had failed to compare to the reality of the woman herself.

When Anilasa’s subtle attentions made it clear that she likely felt towards him as he did her, every second Varen maintained his facade of detachment became an eternity of torture.

His illusion of discipline evaporated before him the more fervently he tried to cling to it.

Even sleep no longer offered respite. Everything forbidden by day raced through his dreams, and he would wake in the morning no less tormented, a dull throb in his wrist.

He understood now, only too late, that he had never truly been tested. He had always been too good, and so every task set before him had always been too easy. Despite his fearsome intelligence and immaculate skill, his will remained stunted and feeble.

And without a foundation of will, no other virtue could stand for long.

When one day she whispered her true feelings towards him, and how long she had held them, the last ragged fragments of his resolve could not make even the pretense of resistance.

As he reached to Anilasa and pulled her into his embrace, he found it a relief to finally surrender.

Moments later, one of the masters found himself walking by the cutting room. As he was passing the door he heard from behind it an ululation, soft at first, then rising in pitch, and then suddenly punctuated by the harsh sound of lashing metal. He immediately pulled the door open.

And he saw them, writhing forms sewn together by rough links of iron, as if by a giant needle threaded through their flesh, their grotesque moans an amalgam of both ecstasy and agony. He had but a moment to comprehend the perverse tableau before the chains pulled taut, and the two-now-one were dragged forever into the dark.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: V’tull (Arkati)

01/10/2007

As V’tull was one of the subjects I was invited to speak about on Teras, this entry will be excerpts from the transcript of the event:

“It is difficult to speak of V’tull without also discussing Kai, as they are different aspects of the same force.”

“V’tull, like Kai, finds purpose in combat. His rivalry with Kai has lasted for ages, indeed since before even the Ur-Daemon War.”

“V’tull has always been the more powerful of the two, but his raw strength, on those rare occasions the two Arkati have faced each other directly, has always been matched by Kai s greater skill.”

“The two Arkati are indeed quite similar, though most note two important differences.”

“Kai, as a patron of mortals, orients his abilities more towards tactics and strategy, and collective victory in battle.”

“V tull, however, is more interested in individual combat prowess.”

“Thus, while Kai is often the patron of soldiers, V’tull is often the patron of warriors, an important distinction.”

“These distinctions are but generalizations, of course, and do not hold up in all instances.”

“The other notable difference between the two is that, unlike Kai, V’tull sees no need to attempt to put a noble face on combat, leaving moral distinctions for others to concern themselves with.”

“Due to the fact that he only ever manages stalemates in his direct conflicts with Kai, many Dhe’nar see V’tull as a lesson in the limits of power insufficiently channeled through discipline and knowledge, since it his only the lack of such that prevents him from dominating his opponent.”

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Voln (Lesser Spirit)

11/29/2006

The Dhe’nar first learned of Voln upon making initial contact with the fledgling human Empire. It was clear that Voln was an ascendant (of sorts), and they could find nothing to disprove the claim that he was the half-mortal son of Koar. The First Born took interest in his teachings, long enough to:

A) Determine that they were far too simplistic, almost childishly so, on the subject of the undead, and

B) Dissect his cult and figure out how to obtain the abilities he grants his followers (read: Sympathetic Magic) without actually dedicating themselves to his teachings.

Thus, the First Born are able to tap Voln’s power by going through the motions of his rituals, without ever needing to join his crusade against the unliving. They’ve separated the philosophy taught and the abilities granted by Voln, so that they need not necessarily take one with the other.

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Tonis (Arkati)

11/29/2006

Though the Dhe’nar have little regard for Oleani, and none for Phoen, Tonis has transcended his parents in their eyes, proving that birth is not necessarily destiny. Though somewhat childlike in manner, he does offer useful lessons.

He is not typically considered the patron of thieves by the Dhe’nar, but he is looked favorably upon by scouts and others of the Warrior caste who rely primarily on speed and maneuverability in battle (light cavalry and infantry, skirmishers, etc). While none actively worship him, there is more than one Dhe’nari military order inspired by Tonis’ teachings, and there are some within the ranks of the Warlock caste who honor him as well, typically those who specialize in Air magics.

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Voaris (Lesser Spirit)

11/29/2006

As the Dhe’nar put little faith in childish notions of romance, they see Voaris as noothing more than a troublemaker, encouraging such foolishness amongst children everywhere, though they attempt to mitigate his effect on their own young. The Dhe’nar tolerate such nonsense
only until such time as one finishes his training and is expected to begin fulfilling his duties as an adult. Before then, pining away over abstract notions of romance are tolerated, though certainly not encouraged. After then, one would likely be considered mentally ill, and would be disciplined harshly by one’s superiors if it ever began to affect one’s duties.

It is generally assumed that Oleani uses Voaris to dupe young mortals into breeding early, before they are old enough to engage their mature, rational minds and resist her influence.

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Tilamaire (Lesser Spirit/Ascendant)

11/29/2006

Tilamaire is held in no higher regard by the Dhe’nar than his master, Cholen. A hedonist in thrall to a greater hedonist, Tilamaire is generally considered a waste of time to study, and one could probably count on one hand the number of First Born who pay any attention to him at all. The denizens of Sharath have more important things to do than sing and prance.

It is generally assumed that Tilamaire was a mortal who seduced Cholen into granting him Ascension, and while this reveals one more method by which to gain Ascension, those Dhe’nar willing to pursue it are few and far between.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Ronan and Sheru (Arkati)

07/29/2006

Ronan is the Lord of Dreams. Before the sentient races existed, he had no particular role. However, when he realized that the minds of sleeping mortals had created what amounted to a new “plane” of existence - the Dreamscape - he took up residence there. At first he was there to study it, then eventually he took up the role of Guardian as well, as he learned of other creatures, and other Arkati, that were able to enter the Dreamscape and manipulate it, often causing harm to sleeping mortals.

Ronan is the darker twin of Phoen, and it is said by some that the two cannot come together in the same place. If true, this is most likely, according to the Dhe’nar, because Ronan cannot stand being in the presence of his vacuous and extravagant brother.

The Arkati Sheru also dwells within the Dreamscape, and considers himself the Lord of Nightmare. Sheru is driven by only a singular goal, that being to drive mortals mad.

It amazes the Dhe’nar that the younger cultures never question why an Arkati would have such a pointless and singular goal, especially since they know they truth of the matter.

Sheru is a nightmare of Ronan’s.

Early during his residence in the Dreamscape, Ronan had yet to learn the properties of the realm in which he had chosen to dwell. Though he had figured out that the “stuff” of the dream realm reacted to the subconscious minds of sentient beings, he did not quite realize the extent to which this occurred, and had not yet properly disciplined his own mind. Though an Arkati, and not required to sleep, he still had a subconscious, and it acted upon the Dreamscape without Ronan even realizing it. Every dark urge repressed, every hidden feeling of resentment and/or superiority towards the mortals he guarded worked and worried at the stuff of the dream realm, until Ronan’s subconscious became a consciousness of its own. The exact method by which this happened is unknown, but it is the subject of a number of cautionary tales amongst the Dhe’nar (the moral of which is generally a warning of the dangers of having a great deal of power without the knowledge and discipline to use it properly, and a reminder that the Arkati are subject to a number of the same weaknesses that befall mortals).

Suffice it to say, by the time Ronan learned of his new “brother”, it was too late to simply extinguish him. Sheru fled to his own corner of the Dreamscape, instinctually erecting enough defenses around his new “realm” that Ronan could not simply destroy him without a lengthy siege that would force him to ignore everything else in the Dreamscape for the duration. Even then, there was no guarantee he could destroy Sheru even should he pierce his fortress. Ronan instead has had to resign himself to countering Sheru and his minions wherever possible, in order to atone for his mistake.

Ronan does not typically speak of these matters to his followers, for obvious reasons. Sheru does not as well, for equally obvious ones.

The Dhe’nar respect Ronan and his dedication to his duty, even if they do not entirely trust him. The creation of Sheru also lends more weight to their belief that the Arkati are eminently fallible, and the world is better off with more mortals Ascendant, than trusting to the caretaking of the Arkati.

Initiates of the Dhe’nari order of Khisai are able to keep themselves from dreaming altogether, thus removing themselves from the Ronan/Sheru conflict entirely. Khisari consider dreams to be little more than a distraction, and evidence of incomplete mental discipline anyway. Not all Dhe’nar subscribe to this view, and it is a matter of some intellectual debate between various sects.

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Phoen (Arkati)

07/29/2006

The Dhe’nar know Phoen as The Braggart, the Empty God, Consort to The Breeder.

Phoen considers himself the “God” of the Sun, which the Dhe’nar know existed before Phoen was even created, thus putting the lie to his claims.

Phoen is pure ego and bravado, associating with the Sun because he wishes to be the center of attention. It wasn’t even until he learned of the mortal races’ reverence for the sun that he chose to associate with it and take credit for it. Like the sun, he wishes to be seen and praised by all, though, without actually having to do anything to earn that adoration.

He is essentially Oleani’s brainless and pretty “kept man”, who has worshippers only because he has been able to trick enough of the younger cultures into believing his nonsense. Even so, most of his power is gained by leeching off what Oleani chooses to throw his way.

The Dhe’nar have absolutely no interest in a useless, loudmouthed braggart like Phoen, and even acknowledgement of him in Sharath is exceedingly rare, except perhaps as a lesson for young Dhe’nar that even the Arkati can be crippled by ego, and are not all to be emulated, or even respected.

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Onar (Lesser Spirit)

07/29/2006

Onar is an ascended assassin who has been known to sell his services to the Arkati (of both “pantheons”, as the younger cultures divide them), and to mortals who know the secrets of both attracting his attention and the types of payment he accepts. It is not known who Onar was when mortal, and it is believed that he has long since eliminated anyone who knew his original identity.

When Onar acts, he rarely, if ever, does so in his own form, as secrecy is of vital importance to him. Rather, he prefers to possess mortals and act through them. Typically, he chooses one with skills, knowledge, or connections that will assist him in his work. Some Dhe’nar assassin sects, particularly the Bent Talon and the Sons of Ash, are known to hope to become temporary vessels of Onar, as it is said that when the possession ends, some elements of the spirit’s skill/knowledge is left behind.

While some claim that Onar leaves a skull mark on those he possesses, the truth of the matter is that no competent assassin would announce his intentions in such an obvious manner, visible to even a cursory search. To the Dhe’nar and others with common sense, it is understood that such marks are used for distraction and misdirection.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Oleani (Arkati)

05/28/2006

The Dhe’nar know Oleani as The Breeder, patron of fertility, and the mindless and artless rutting of animals. Though they acknowledge that it is important for a society to reproduce and survive, they put no more stock in Oleani than that.

The Dhe’nar do not believe in “Love”, considering it a conceit that other sentients convince themselves exists, solely to try to give meaning to their reproductive urges. The Dhe’nar believe Oleani feeds this delusion, and consider this “romanticizing” of her true nature to be nothing but harmful. Thus, when the Dhe’nar call upon Oleani, it is in her aspect as patron of fertility, nothing more.

Ivas is seen as the path by which to transcend Oleani and her base urges, turning simple reproduction into something more significant.

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Mularos (Arkati)

05/28/2006

Mularos is known to the First Born as the Painseeker. He is the arkati who draws strength from suffering, and those of the younger races that attach themselves to Mularos seem to limit their understand of him to the most superficial of levels, seeking pain as its own end. Amongst the broken and maimed, he is a sign of redemption, feeding the belief that their weakness is in fact a source of strength, and chaining themselves to these falsehoods. Some mentally ill individuals follow Mularos, proving that he draws not only the broken in flesh, but in mind and spirit as well, and these maim themselves in misguided attempts to bring themselves closer to their “god” hoping to acquire his favor.

Needless to say, the Dhe’nar take different lessons from Mularos.

To the Dhe’nar, Mularos, while not particularly worthy of respect, represents the notion that hardship of the flesh can bring with it spiritual strength. Those who choose to draw lessons from Mularos amongst the Dhe’nar do so with the understanding that physical pain is merely a forge for the Spirit, and it is through that method they seek Ascension. They do not seek pain as its own end, merely as something to overcome. To avoid pain and hardship altogether is to remain frail, a notion which lies near the core of Dhe’nar society. The Dhe’nar choose to live in a harsh environment, and they train themselves to a harsh standard.

That said, the only value they find in Mularos is as a symbol. The reality of Mularos is that he peddles delusion to the weak, and is therefore depraved and harmful. 

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Niima (Lesser Spirit)

05/28/2006

Niima is the daughter of Charl, and much like Lorminstra is the go-between for Gosaena and our realm, so Niima serves as a bridge between Charl’s alien mind and the comprehension of mortals. When Dhe’nar seek to study Charl’s domain and his power, often they do so by way of Niima, as attempting to deal directly with Charl invites disaster, as he is difficult to comprehend at the best of times. Oftentimes, even when unasked Niima intercedes when mortals beseech Charl directly anyway, in order to protect the beseecher. So it is that many of the younger races’ priests of Charl in fact deal with Niima more often than their chosen patron, even if they do not realize it. 

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Meyno (Lesser Spirit)

05/28/2006

Meyno is said to be the oldest living stone giantess, and she’s possibly dead, possibly dormant.

Frankly, the Dhe’nar do not care. 

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Dhe’nar Temple Caste and Sympathetic Magic

05/10/2006

One of the more frequent questions asked of Dhe’nar in GemStone is that, since they do not consider the Arkati to be truly divine beings, and often consider Arkati to be adversaries of mortals rather than worthy of worship (or even worthy of respect in some cases) then how is it that Clerics and Paladins even exist amongst the First Born, never mind seem to be granted spiritual power by the Arkati?

This, in fact, is not a puzzle to the Dhe’nar Temple Caste, because the workers of Spiritual Magic amongst the First Born operate on a different theory of magic than the younger races. While the short-lived mortals perform spiritual magic by making themselves subordinate and submissive towards their patron spirits, the Dhe’nar spiritual magicians operate under the theory of Sympathetic Magic.

Sympathetic magic is the use of images, physical objects, sounds, and other symbolic behaviors which in some way resemble the person or thing one hopes to influence. In the case of Dhe’nari members of the Temple Caste, the Arkati and their behaviors are the subjects emulated.

In other words, Sympathetic Magic is the manipulation of symbols, to create magical effects using the power of the object symbolized. If one wishes to evoke the power of Eonak, one looks/sounds/acts/thinks like Eonak. If one wishes to evoke the power of Fash’lo’nae, one does the same for him, and so on and so forth.

Dhe’nar clerics and paladins therefore draw on the power of the arkati by making themselves as similar to the Arkati in question as possible, and obtain their power in that manner. All Greater and Lesser Spirits have a “pool” of power available to and surrounding them, and Sympathetic Magic allows one to “tap” into that pool and use a portion of it as if one were the Arkati itself. Note that this similarity must be in more than just appearance. Intricate and arcane meditations are required to bring the mind of the Dhe’nar to the proper state as well. 

For a more modern analogy of the overall process, consider temporarily spoofing a network into thinking you were its proper owner, then using its resources/bandwidth briefly to accomplish some other purpose.

This is how Dhe’nar draw upon the power of the Arkati while still seeking to replace them. Instead of worshipping an Arkati, and asking it to bestow a portion of its power upon the supplicant, Dhe’nar who use spiritual magic have learned to access it without having to bend knee to the “gods” and beg.

Note that accessing the power does not automatically confer the ability to use it well, or use it at all. It still requires will, intelligence, and training to wield the power of an Arkati properly after it has been accessed. Simply “dressing up” as an Arkati does not grant you its power.

There is one more method of utilizing and Arkati’s or Lesser Spirit’s power without worshipping it, though this secondary method is much rarer. It requires making use of the Magical Law of Contagion, which is the Law that things which have once been in contact with each other continue to act on each other at a distance after the physical contact has been severed. Thus, it is possible to draw upon the power of the Arkati as a Cleric or Paladin if one has a relic that an Arkati has once been in contact with. The relic maintains a bridge between the user of magic and the Arkati whose power once touched it. This is rarer for two reasons: One, such relics are difficult to find and those that are known are heavily guarded by their owners. And two, an Arkati may take notice of the use of the relic and decide it wants its former belonging back.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

The Dhe’nar View of the “Gods”: Marlu (Ur-Daemon)

04/05/2006

Having preserved a great deal of the knowledge given them ages ago by the Arkati, the Dhe’nar are well aware of the truth behind the Ur-Daemon, and know that they aren’t truly “Demons” as Sorcerers and students of the Valences might know them. The Ur-Daemon were, in fact, the Gods of another Plane of Existence, one incredibly alien to ours, and instantly hostile once the planar walls were breached and they became aware of us.

Marlu is the last of these alien gods left upon Elanthia, the others slain or driven back to their own realm by the sacrifice of the Drakes, and many of the original Arkati.

Marlu does not necessarily “delight” in death and destruction, it is simply that his entire nature is hostile to our world and how it operates. Some Dhe’nar posit that simply existing in our realm causes Marlu immense, constant pain, thus explaining his consuming rage and desire to destroy. Exposure to certain valences may soothe his pain, thus explaining his interest in the summoning of demons.