An Caill: The Loss [Avayevnon]

[Seraph]

Prologue: Avayevnon

Avayevnon.  Try speaking it aloud.  Feel the rolling of its vowels and consonants, how it slowly swells before trailing off.  Few stop to consider the beauty of the word these days.  Few know its meaning, and even fewer know its history.  To the masses is it nothing but an idle word, a name applied to the ground that they walk on - ground that is fought over by those who are bigger than they are.  Bigger, at least in status, if not always in stature.  It is a secret rather poorly kept by the Church and the many nations of the world that the true power on Avayevnon lies with the Ithai merchants.  All the priests in Bizhentluus, with their mixed heritages tracing back to the lost tribes of the Wights and the Weres, Norns, Mannans, and Adamites, can't compare to the economic power wielded by the Ithai - or dwarves as the more daring might call them (though never within earshot if they value their skin).  Yet all these people conduct their daily business - their trades and sales, their wars and battles, their sermons and inquisitions - without the slightest thought to the word which symbolizes their very world, their very lives: Avayevnon.

It is a curious piece of lore, known only to the most learned scholars and the most dilligent seekers, involving myths of ancient times surrounding the Fae Folk - The "Everborn" as the appellation goes.  The Everborn are rarely considered a decent topic of conversation amongst the virtuous.  Church teachings deny that they ever existed, and claim that tales of their immortality and reincarnation are naught but lies meant to lead the faithless astray fromt the light of Sol.  To express belief in such nonsense is considered heresy by the order of Inquisitor Proditus of the Crimson Inquistion.  It is only in rural villages, which often avoid the direct gaze of the Church, where any whisper of them remains.  

Once a year, on the Feast of Seanfir, the people fear to go out at night, for it is said that the wicked fae, demons that they were, had been banished from the world by the One God's Word, but on Seanfir Night the wards were weak, and the Old Ones would return.  Legend tells that the Fae Folk will kidap young men and women, and take them back to their elf-mounds, where they will be forever lost from the moment of Sol's first light.  But even in the countryside, where the supersitious dread the wrath of the fae, the secret of Avayevnon is an enigma.

The sands of time roll on, waiting for the hourglass to be turned.  It is a fact that lies dormant in the minds of all, and while they may not understand, even the meek know, somewhere within their bones, when the world is turned.  It is something akin to an electricity in the air, a tingle up the spine that makes the hair stand on end, a collective sigh.  Whatever it is, all people are aware, as they were aware when the bloodstained armies of the demon Pazrael were forced back into the Pit, that something had changed.  The world had been turned upside down and, for better or worse, everything was new.  It was an old experience the world had forgotten - one lost to time before time, a time when all time was Seanfir Night.  It was the time of the Old Ones.  The time of the Fae.

[Seraph]

Chapter 1: The Lugragenti

There was a time, if it is fit to call it a time, when things were not as they are now.  There was not one god, but many, and they were the Lugragenti - children of the Sun and Moon.  They kept the name of the moon, Lugra, for it was through the mother that lineage could be surely traced.  They ruled as gods, but they were not gods over men, but over the bushes and trees, over the fields and rolling hills, over the fish in the streams, and the hawks in the skies, and the bears, rabbits, squirrels, and wolves that prowled the land.  They were called the Everborn because they lived many lives.  Death was nothing to be feared, for an end only heralded new beginnings.  No matter the devastation, new life always returned.  Because of this, the Everborn named their world Avayevnon: Rebirth.  The oldest myths told of how the Everborn were tied to the fate of the land.  The death of a rabbit was the life of a wolf and a wildfire, while death to many trees, was necessary for the forest to thrive.  So it was with the Everborn as well.

Tradition held that it was the fate of the High King of the Lugragenti to be sacrificed when the land was in need.  By offering up his life to the land, the King would thus replenish it.  The deed was performed with great ceremony.  The High King, clad in animal skins, his face and body adorned with leaves to embody his link with all animals and plants, was offered up to Land, Sea, and Sky, for only a Threefold Death held the power to replenish all of nature.  With a blade carved of stone, his blood was offered up to the sea.  His body, placed upon the Great Pyre, was burned so that his essence would pour up into the sky with the smoke and flame.  Finally, his ashes were buried in an offering to the Earth.  And from the grave of the first of the Sacrificial Kings sprouted a seed that grew into, not a bush, or a tree, but a foliate man.  Thus rose the Duirdaoine, spirits of the land.  In honor of the sacrifice, the earth offered up a protector in return, with the strength and longevity of the Mighty Oak.  But not even such great and powerful protectors could prevent the calamity that would signal the end of the era of the Lugragenti.

By and large, the time of the Lugragenti was a time of peace.  When the Everborn grew bored, they found it to their liking to play games and make mischief against one another, but it was a rare thing for one of the Moon's children to do another serious injury.  And having unrivaled dominion over the beasts of field and forest, and over the flowers, bushes, and trees, they had no need of war.  They mastered agriculture, and learned to make beauty from simple things - from the weaving of branches and flowers, from the sculpting, carving, and shaping of animal bones, and through the manipulation of precious metals and stones.  They had learned the crafting of metal for purposes of hunting, finding it superior to chizeled stone.  It was only in the great sacrifice of the Threefold Death that a stone blade was used, in rememberance of the earliest days and of the ancient mystery of the rite.  They learned the use of curved swords of bronze, long and sharp, of spears and javelins, and of bows and arrows.  They held great power and could work great magics.  On occasion, they would imbue their tools and weapons with their magics in such manners and crafts as are now lost to the world.  Enchanting an object with a permanent charge is a very rare skill in the modern day.  Today a witch may place some mana into her tools that they may aid her in her spells, but when so used, their magic is spent and gone.  The greatest of the Lugragenti possessed the skill to make terrible weapons, but rarely did so, for lack of purpose.  It was only when personal strife with another led one to greatly desire the other's demise - for a time, at least - that such ventures were considered.

Life moved on, and the civilization of the Everborn continued and advanced.  The greatest of the Lugragenti taught their lessers the crafts of their expertise.  The desire for love and creation was instinctual, embodied in Sybarus and Lillitu, who together taught the mysteries of creation and reproduction.  Lillitu desired to eat, and first sought the fruit of the trees.  It was Samael first taught the elves to hunt game.  Pazuzu taught them to observe the weather, in its seasons and cycles that they might be aware of the migrations of animals, and the way to grow and cultivate plants.  It was through him that they developed a knowledge of Agriculture.  Rahab inspired them to want more: not merely to survive, but to thrive and to compete with one's neighbors.  Balor taught them the art of domesticating and herding cattle, as a source of both food and wealth, and so gave them the idea of property.  Finally, Nodens taught them to desire comfort, to do more with less, to seek the end of work's necessity.  Yet in this time, though the Moon's people grew more aware of their surroundings and how to live in them, they had always worked within the bounds of nature.  But the day would come, when a King arose who would see to challenge that pattern.

[Seraph]

Chapter 2: Sol

If the Lugragenti ruled the world of Avayevnon as gods, then the great teachers of the Everborn could not be named in our tongue.  They were as gods to the gods themselves.  In the tongue of the Elves, they were called the Muinteori.  Though they were born again and again, bearing many names - though always with the knowledge of their deep and ancient identity - it was not they who chose to rule.  That privilege, that burden, that fate, fell to the High King.  It came to pass an elf by the name of Grian was made king.  Grian was proud of his people and their advancements, but as he looked out over his lands it was not their accomplishments he saw, but that which he felt held them back.  His predecessors had always worked within the bounds they found around themselves.  They lived for a life, trying their best to avoid sweat and toil and the wear of seasons and years, until they ultimately died and were reborn.  He looked out and it seemed to be a pointless cycle.  He yearned to be free of the pattern.  Rather than to go round the path in an unending orbit, why not break out and barrel forward?  Nature need not be feared and appeased, offered up sacrifice - it could be mastered.  He saw the farmers plow their fields, the shepherds and cowherds lead their livestock o'er hill and dale, and saw that his people could become the masters, not only of the beasts, but of the earth itself.  He sought to establish a realm that would live beyond the fetters of survival, and would focus on what he deemed higher goals: law and wisdom, discipline and courage. It was a goal that would go unrealized in his kingship.

Disease struck the Everborn.  It seemed to come in with the wind, infecting infecting the elves, and the animals.  Elves grew sick from eating contaminated meat, and in some cases, even the water was infected.  As the situation grew worse, many began to clamor for the Great Sacrifice - the Threefold Death.  But Grian had no desire to head to his grave.  He did not desire the endless process of death and rebirth, nor the power of the Duirdaoine, but true immortality.  The power he desired was that of Hellidh, the unending Sun up above.  He knew that there was little time.  The elves would not wait long in conditions of increasing destitution before they not only clamored, but demanded a kingly gift.  He worked powerful magics, having secluded himself away for time untold spent in endless labor, safe from the eyes and ears of others, until he emerged with a weapon: A great golden spear, it is told.  And when he emerged, Grian knew his purpose.  Turning to face the sky, Grian took hold of the instrument of his will and let fly the golden spear towards the heavens.  Striking the Sun, the spear drove deep, and a rain of fire fell across the land as Hellidh's blood spilled forth from his fiery form.   Grian took up the Chalice of the Old Ones and filled it with the blood of the fallen Sun and so consumed his foe.  It burned his throat with fire as he supped, but the serum filled him with a lightness and a radiance as he felt its power becoming his own.  He drank until he had consumed the sun, and Hellidh's essence had been merged with his own, and knew that no power that lived and died could rival him.  He took up the name "Sol" meaning "The One" for he saw that there was no other like himself.

This was not the sacrifice the Lugragenti had desired, and a roar ripped through the Everborn people.  Sol strode through His land, and the people bowed in hateful fear.  One by one, they fell to their knees, grieving.  While to have such power was pleasing, he wondered at their hate.  He shone with his full radiance, and spake "Behold your lord, your One True God.  Look on me and love."  And there were those that did.  Bethor, who had always sat at Grian's right hand, now looked on the Lord with awe and reverence.  

"Hail to He who is Justice."  Bethor knelt before Sol and as the Lord passed, fell into step behind him.  

Next came Cabron, who spake "Hail to he who is Light, our hope for the future!"  

Sol moved towards Anahita, and she bowed in deference to Him, speaking "Hail to he in whose power we have the courage to go forward, just as You had the courage to face the very Sun!"  

"Nay, my child," spake the Lord "I am the Sun and the Sky, and the Kingdom of Heaven which is Paradise."  

"And what of this Kingdom of Avayevnon?" one Elf asked.  

"Xantros," the Lord Sol spoke. "No Kingdom of Earth could be but for My light and glory." And Xantros bowed at this.  

"Hail To Him who is Love, and whose love sustains us all!" This was spoken by Daena, and the Lord was pleased.  

"You speak well and true, and the love of Me and My Word is the most fitting tribute."

"Lord, how best should we love you?"  This came from Razhista.

"You Razhista, who are as learned as any, need know no more than that My Will be done.  Keep the Faith, and all that you need to know shall be revealed to you in time."

"My Lord, I wish to know it all!"

"Patience, good Tanyn.  Temperance in all things is most fitting, in all things, our appetites and that which we consume, be it food or drink, or knowledge.  When you join me in Paradise, you will have your reward."

Sol then turned to the Muinteori.  These were the greatest of the Everborn.  He turned to Lillitu, with a smile.  "Even children and abundance can be to the detriment of the whole.  To give in too much to our desires is to give into the evil within us.  We must be rid of them.  Lillitu, my Lillith, will you sit at my side?"

"Yes, Lord.  I will sit with you, if you will have me."

Sol turned to the hunter Samael.  "Samael, you who are so adept at the hunting of game, and the finding of quarry.  Will you be my avenger, like unto my spear, to do my will from afar?"

"Yes, Lord. I will stand at your side and do your bidding."

"Then you will be my left hand.  As Bethor is my judgement, so you shall be my instrument, my executioner."

Pazuzu, known as Pazrael in this life, watched as his fellow Muinteori humbled themselves before this upstart.  He who had been below their godliness now claimed to be above them, having had the gall to strike at the sun itself.  It had filled him with revulsion that the King who had meant to be sacrificed would dare to flaunt the authority of the Hellidh and Lugra, of the natural order the world itself.  His hate filled him like a poison, like an infection that ate away at him, eating at his flesh from the insides.  A thought crossed his mind of unloosing this pain on those traitors to the faith who had thrown their lot in with this traitor.  The word that occurred to him was an elven word, for something terrible and unnatural: Mehani.  He knew his answer before the question was asked.  He watched as Grian stepped before him and hesitated a moment, as if detecting the unspoken loathing that was like bile in the Elf's throat.  Pazuzu smiled at the thought.  He knows.  Good.  Let him know that I will not bow to this upstart.

"Pazrael.  King of the Winds and Weather, who we have to thank for the Pestilence that has ravaged our lands these months" and at this Pazrael bent at the waist in a bow full of irony.  "Pazrael you resist, but know that mine is the Mighty Kingdom of Heaven, and those who love and glorify Me shall live forever.  Will you serve?"

"I will not serve."