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Translation of the Degwyr Manuscripts- the supposed Grimoire of Creation.
At the beginning of the world, there were thirteen seats of power.
Light, Dark, Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Motion, Space, Time, Chaos, Life, and finally Death.
It was in that order they came to be- beyond Celestial, beyond Infernal- existing to follow some unseen plan.
Godlike power.
Immortal forms.
Imperfect Perfection.
For though they looked as men, they had not the heart of man- they could not experience pain, for they were above it. They could not understand weakness, for they could not feel it.
The first of the Thirteen, the eldest, the being that would embody the light was the first to leave. Seeking a greater understanding of her power, she traveled deep and far- the to hidden realm of secrets. Upon her return, the demons claimed her as their king. Even unto now, she sits on the Infernal Throne, silently contemplating.
With the loss of the eldest, it is said, the remaining twelve quietly vied for power- save for the youngest, it which presided over Death.
Born at the loss of innocence, it knew no true evil, and had been beloved by its siblings. However, the power it held was not allowed where the Eldest had once dwelled (Here the author makes his opinion known that he believes this had something to do with the disappearance of the Light figure. -T.).
Nay, it was to the realm of Mortals that it was sent, to watch over we weak ones. To give its grim Gift to we whose flame burns weakest.
Still, though it loved its siblings, the Death Spirit could not walk amongst them long. In time the pain of its loneliness seeped out, and its brethren, save one, abandonded it to the ages...
The Death Spirit looked out over the ruined land that was its home. The land where he had been cast out of originally. Ash fell like snow, coating the ground in a dark grey. Even at this point, his emotions were hollow. What was the point of this destruction? This Misery....
It had been beautiful once- not that any who had gazed upon its splendor had realized it to be so. Eight of the thirteen seats were empty- tied to his own. Only the Light Spirit, the Life Spirit, and the Time Spirit still had their thrones.
He ached. Unlike the others, he'd chosen to feel what it had meant to be alive- to be a Mortal. Unlike the others, he could see the threads that made the tapestry that was Creation. It was beautiful and terrible- and this realization only served to deepened the hollow feeling in his core.
"Little one, why do you cry?" his sisters had once asked, holding his hand.
"Young one, why do you bleed?" his brothers had once asked, bandaging his wounds.
Soon Life would fall. It hurt him to have to strike down his closest sibling- but she too had betrayed him out of fear.
To take his one happiness.
So he would swallow them- those ten who had conspired to keep him away. To weaken him with Mortality, never realizing that it had only served to strengthen him. Then, having taken them all, he would rest. His form would split, as it had generations past, as it had in the beginning. As immortals, they would rise and not heal- cursed by him. They would seek him out- for repentance or vengeance, he knew not.
He would sleep until she returned again- he would not know her, nor she him.
But he would find her, as would they.
And he would try again.
 Azzy Rael · Wed Mar 06, 2013 @ 10:21am · 0 Comments |
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