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, November 29, 2006

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.

Monday, March 06, 2006

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

03/06/2006

Kuon is another Ascendant, once one of the mortal giantkin, now a Lesser Spirit. It was through Kuon that Imaera taught the mortals how to cultivate crops, thus bringing them the basic foundation of civilization. It is for this important knowledge, rather than for trivial nonsense such as “flowers” and “fixing injured plants” that he is known.

As regards herbal remedies, there are those who claim he convinced Imaera to imbue certain plants with the ability to heal grievous wounds, others who claim he tricked her into granting this ability, and others who believe Kuon merely discovered the properties already extant within certain plants, and was simply the first to pass this knowledge on to others. The Dhe’nar lean towards the latter explanation, but admit that nobody truly knows for certain.

As an Ascendant, Kuon is respected by the Dhe’nar for his achievement, as well as his role in empowering mortals.

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

03/06/2006

Khaarne is another rock giant who Ascended in an unknown manner, and who the Dhe’nar care nothing about.

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

03/06/2006

Jaston is an Ascendant. Once a mortal, he was lifted to the realm of Spirit by the intervention of the Fleshcrafter, Imaera.

After twisting and mutating the body of a fallen elf, Imaera, unable to grant true life to creatures, beseeched Lorminstra to grant her a soul to use to animate her latest experiment (the original identity of this soul remains unknown, and if Jaston remembers who he was before the Arkati decided to play with him and thrust him into a new body, he has never spoken of it).

As an Ascendant, Jaston seems rather carefree, and travels wherever whim takes him. This has led the younger cultures to associate him with winds, birds, and any manner of symbol that represents freedom.

Friday, February 10, 2006

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

02/10/2006

Ivas has dedicated her immortality to the exploration of sexuality as a form of pleasure, rather than as a method of reproduction, which puts her at odds with Oleani (not that Ivas much cares). She is capable of drawing power from the sexual gratification of sentient beings, and is also able to harness energy from desire, which is the state of being unfulfilled. To be able to draw energy from both gratification and its lack makes her rather powerful, and it is the latter aspect the Dhe’nar view as much more harmful to mortals, specifically themselves. To long for something is to be attached to it, and to attach oneself to one’s base flesh and urges in such a fashion hinders the path to Ascendance. Thus, the Dhe’nar view Ivas in two aspects, She Who Frees, and She Who Binds. They both respect Ivas and warn of her danger.

Unlike Cholen, the Dhe’nar do not see Ivas in her aspect as She Who Frees as an immature hedonist. Rather, they see her as one who has raised a base biological function into the realm of skill and art, thus allowing a step towards transcendence of the flesh, and eventually Ascendance. Perhaps the key difference in attitudes towards the two Arkati is because Ivas seeks to spread her knowledge through mortal societies (which includes the knowledge of herbal and magical methods of birth control, which is one of the key reasons Oleani is in conflict with her), whereas Cholen merely seeks to gratify himself and no others.

The danger in a society tilting too far towards Ivas, of course, is a falling birthrate, and population collapse. So balance must always be maintained.

Mortals wishing to paint this Arkati as part of their childish “Evil Pantheon” have associated Ivas with all manner of rotting and deforming diseases, to the point where even a number of Ivas fanatics believe it themselves. Once again, the Dhe’nar cast aside this attribution as pure nonsense, especially as this supposed aspect of Ivas was completely unknown to them for over 80,000 years, until they recently made contact with the cultures beyond the northern wastes.

There are indeed those Ivasians who do manifest such illnesses, but they do so because they bring them upon themselves through undisciplined and unhealthy behavior, not because Ivas inflicts them upon them. Correlation does not equal causation. The Dhe’nar are fully aware that Ivas is not responsible for such things, even if a few of her more naive and ignorant followers are insane enough to allow themselves to aquire and fester with untreated diseases, which are otherwise easily done away with by herbal and empathic treatment. Once again, it is another example of the younger cultures (amongst which the Dhe’nar include the Fallen Elves) believing the stories they themselves invent about their “gods”, rather than seeking wisdom through truth.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

The Arkati In General

10/09/2005

Like most elves, the Dhe’nar do not view the Arkati as “gods” but rather as old, powerful beings, worthy of respect, perhaps, but not of adoration, and especially not of worship.

The Dhe’nar, of course, take this one step further than even other elves. They don’t acknowledge the Arkati as superior to mortals in anything but raw power. As the race and culture closest to the Arkati, they know full well that the Arkati have the same flaws as other sentient creatures, many with bizarre personalities and a range of odd quirks. Some seem close to sanity, as a mortal sees it, while others seem entirely mad, or simply alien.

Even the Drakes had flaws that brought about their downfall, and the Arkati, creations of the Dragons, are certainly flawed as well.

So why do the Dhe’nar seek the power of the Arkati? Why do they bother trying to learn from the actions of these bizarre and powerful creatures, so that they might ascend to the same stature?

Individual Dhe’nar may have their own reasons, but for the culture as a whole, the answer is simple: To defend themselves from the Arkati.

The Arkati have no competition on Elanthia except from their fellow “gods”. They can toy with the mortal races at will, utilizing whole cultures as pawns in their games at a whim.

Until mortals have risen their own champions to the same level of power as their creators, the predations of the Arkati will never cease. Therefore, the goal of the Dhe’nar is to ensure that the next generation of Gods will be born of Mortals.

Clearly, this is possible, as many of the newer “gods”, also known as “lesser spirits” or “immortals”, were once mortals themselves, according to canon, as noted once before.

The Dhe’nar, of course, have handed down copious amounts of lore regarding the Arkati from their earliest days upon Elanthia. This lore diverges greatly from the depictions of the Arkati by the races that worship them. One of the greatest divergences is the Dhe’nar notion that none of the Arkati were granted inherent power over any particular natural or metaphysical domain. Any such power was obtained by staking a claim, and defending it from other Arkati, or by mortals granting the arkati control over them through their powers of belief (as the Dhe’nar see it, making their delusions a reality through repetition). In other words, the only reason a given Arkati controls anything is because it was strong enough to take it, or mortals foolishly allowed them to control it.

Why do Dhe’nar clerics and paladins even exist then, if this is the case? Especially since they are the least trusted of the Castes, having delivered the Dhe’nar into tyranny in the past? Not only is it important to know the Arkati intimately, if they are to assume their power, but it also makes practical sense to make use of the power available, regardless of its source.

In addition, Dhe’nari Templars do not obtain their magical power through worshipping of the Arkati. They do it through emulation of the Arkati, and assuming some of its power by assuming its Aspect. This is known as Sympathetic Magic, and will be explored in greater detail in another post.

Another distinction is that Dhe’nar do not separate the Arkati into distinct “good” and “evil” (Liabo and Lornon) pantheons. They do not believe Arkati are cohesive enough to operate in ‘teams’, nor do Dhe’nar believe in the easy moral dichotomy of “good and evil” anyway. To the Dhe’nar, individual Arkati are simply more or less inimical to mortal life, and some that the Dhe’nar consider less inimical to mortal concerns are actually considered “evil” by cultures of the Fallen Elves and lesser lived races, and some they consider more harmful are considered “good” by the same.

I will present the Dhe’nar depictions of the Arkati and many of the Lesser Spirits in the series of posts titled “The Dhe’nar View of the Gods”.

Ascension Overview

10/09/2005

The goal of the Dhe’nar people is enlightenment, which to them is to attain the power of the arkati themselves. The Dhe’nar refer to this ultimate goal as Ascension.

Noi’sho’rah was the first to Ascend, and it is his example that the Dhe’nar follow to this day. Is their path a true one? Is Ascension even possible? Have there been Dhe’nar who have attained this difficult goal? The Dhe’nar themselves are tight-lipped when it comes to answering such questions. This has lead to wild speculation, on both ends of the spectrum and everywhere in between. Some say that Ascension is impossible, and the Dhe’nar do not speak of their failure out of embarrassment. Some astute scholars have noted that Ascension is not without precedent - The Huntress, Arachne, Kuon, Leya, and Tilamaire are all powerful spirits who were also all once mortal, proving that such a goal is, in fact, possible to attain. Whether the Way of the Dhe’nar is indeed capable of transforming their people from mortal elves into immortal spirits remains a mystery to all but Sharath itself.

There are many arkati, each with their own history and personality, and as such, there are many different potential paths to enlightenment. Some Dhe’nar may choose to follow the path of a specific arkati, while others may be more general in their approach. Those Dhe’nar who dedicate themselves to a specific arkati are not worshipping that arkati, but rather trying to emulate that being to the best of his or her ability. All paths are accepted within Sharath, with the exception of those that do harm to the Dhe’nar people, as continuity of Dhe’nar culture trumps all other concerns. Those who would emulate more destructive arkati need not abandon their path, but most must eventually leave Sharath and travel to remote regions in order to continue upon it. Such self-imposed exile is best for these Dhe’nar, as such paths often, although not always, lead to destructive acts inflicted upon themselves and their neighbors. In Sharath, such acts would be followed by quick and merciless justice, possibly even execution. The Dhe’nar do not have a high enough population that they can afford to tolerate murder or similar disruptions of their society. However, isolated in remote areas, darker Dhe’nar can avoid such repercussions. It is often such Dhe’nar that other cultures encounter first, coloring their initial impression of the First Born.