On the Searising
And from the waters a trembling came, and the ocean floor was uplifted high above the waters; yet one fish survived it and breathed the free air. Gilmithiën gave it legs and a voice.~Excerpt from the Searising The Searising is the general name for the way that the dwarves envisioned the creation of the world. The dwarves believe only in Lady Gilmithiën as their creator, her vision of the new world, and how she worked to create it.
Summary
The Dwarves believe that the Orph has always been, only altered by Gilmithiën but created by no crafter and guarded by no master. And they hold true that Aframir is an endless ocean of black water, with neither beginning nor end. In this endless ocean lay no land, and in it was no life. On this ocean sailed one small vessel, a fishing cog. And on it lived Lady Gilmithiën and Alior, who in the dwarven tale was Gilmithiën's husband. The oceans were lifeless however, and Alior caught nothing. Alior would rage every day, cursing the stillness of the ocean. No waves, no ripples, no animals. And the ocean heard him, and stirred. A great storm was sent forth and the small boat was swallowed whole by the waves. Alior, unhappy with the sea, could not breathe, and he drowned. But his wife Gilmithiën loved the stillness and vastness of the ocean, and being in love with Gilmithiën, it granted her mercy. She breathed, and saw the black ocean turn into an endless transparent blue before her eyes, as the death of Alior caused his mighty spirit to be infused into the waves. And from that day forward she was the seamaiden, or Namłu. She hovered in the water below the surface, living and breathing, but unmoving, mourning Alior's death and lacking will to live. After all, her vessel was destroyed and her husband was gone. for ten thousand years she remained still, feeling naught but her own dread and the cool water around her body. Her skin became weak and scaled off, and she became blind as the salt maimed her eyes. Gilmithiën came to hate and love the ocean, for it was her prison and her home. It took her husband, but it spared her life.
After these ages of a silent world passed, the ocean was moved with pity, for Gilmithiën was not made for the water. she desparately longed to walk again and to feel the wind against her face. The sea loved her greatly, and desired to see her happy. But the ocean could not grant her this, as the eternal waves are all that it could conjure. It could no longer stand to torture Gilmithiën, and it spoke to her: "Go now. Be at peace," and it released her from its grip. But Gilmithiën did not perish there; she was too innately tied to the ocean to do so. Gilmithiën stirred for the first time in an age, and her joints creaked as she stretched and swam through the deep blue. She had decided how to chastise the ocean for its deed. She removed her feet, and split them into a million pieces. The pieces were invigorated with the eternal spirit of alior, that imbued them with life and shape. And they grew into fish of all shapes and sizes, as well as into plants that turned the empty ocean floor into a sprawling forest of colorful wonders. The fish darted through the flowering reefs and the kelp danced with the currents impelled by wind and sun. A breathtaking spectable of life unfolded in the ocean, and Gilmithiën sang to to the sea: Thou who takest life are now full of it
Vitalized by my stolen husband's spirit But Gilmithiën's vengeance was twofold: she turned to a great stretch of seabed filled with life, hovered in the water above it and raised her hands. She lifted the land up until it touched her broken feet, and the land lifted further, taking Gilmithiën higher up until with a great roaring the sands emerged from the sea and became land. Under the weight of her body she collapsed without feet, and she lay alone in a shallow saltwater pool, one of many that was spread here and there over the new land. She whispered to that water: Thou can now no more hurt what lives on the land
For thy reach may cometh far, but not to this extent She took a great number of fish and and seaplants with her, and under the pain of gravity they learned to breathe. The fish grew bones strong and thick and they became animals. The plants made wood to support their great length. The animals gathered around Gilmithiën their maker, and looked upon her broken body with pity. And one animal, shivering in the cold for it was small and thin, entered the cold pool and licked Gilmithiën's wounded eyes, feet and skin. Its saliva was thick, and stopped the bleeding. The ocean was filled with remorse, and the water of the pool entered Gilmithiën's legs through her pores and stopped the pain. The water lady sat upright, and she thanked the ocean and the shivering animal. She gave the cold animal a great layer of fat and much hair to thank it, and it was given intelligence and speech not unlike Gilmithiën herself. The lady multiplied the animal so that there were many, and she promised that they were her most beloved creation. And the ocean she too thanked for its mercy; she lowered the land slightly, and the water filled the still pools and connected, so that the land now dotted the ocean in small islands. And here she named this congregation of islands and shallow water Kangolar, for Kango was the ocean and Lar was the land, and this was their union. She named the small animals Neyre, lickers. and that they named themselves too. Their small stature made them dwarves in human languages.
After these ages of a silent world passed, the ocean was moved with pity, for Gilmithiën was not made for the water. she desparately longed to walk again and to feel the wind against her face. The sea loved her greatly, and desired to see her happy. But the ocean could not grant her this, as the eternal waves are all that it could conjure. It could no longer stand to torture Gilmithiën, and it spoke to her: "Go now. Be at peace," and it released her from its grip. But Gilmithiën did not perish there; she was too innately tied to the ocean to do so. Gilmithiën stirred for the first time in an age, and her joints creaked as she stretched and swam through the deep blue. She had decided how to chastise the ocean for its deed. She removed her feet, and split them into a million pieces. The pieces were invigorated with the eternal spirit of alior, that imbued them with life and shape. And they grew into fish of all shapes and sizes, as well as into plants that turned the empty ocean floor into a sprawling forest of colorful wonders. The fish darted through the flowering reefs and the kelp danced with the currents impelled by wind and sun. A breathtaking spectable of life unfolded in the ocean, and Gilmithiën sang to to the sea: Thou who takest life are now full of it
Vitalized by my stolen husband's spirit But Gilmithiën's vengeance was twofold: she turned to a great stretch of seabed filled with life, hovered in the water above it and raised her hands. She lifted the land up until it touched her broken feet, and the land lifted further, taking Gilmithiën higher up until with a great roaring the sands emerged from the sea and became land. Under the weight of her body she collapsed without feet, and she lay alone in a shallow saltwater pool, one of many that was spread here and there over the new land. She whispered to that water: Thou can now no more hurt what lives on the land
For thy reach may cometh far, but not to this extent She took a great number of fish and and seaplants with her, and under the pain of gravity they learned to breathe. The fish grew bones strong and thick and they became animals. The plants made wood to support their great length. The animals gathered around Gilmithiën their maker, and looked upon her broken body with pity. And one animal, shivering in the cold for it was small and thin, entered the cold pool and licked Gilmithiën's wounded eyes, feet and skin. Its saliva was thick, and stopped the bleeding. The ocean was filled with remorse, and the water of the pool entered Gilmithiën's legs through her pores and stopped the pain. The water lady sat upright, and she thanked the ocean and the shivering animal. She gave the cold animal a great layer of fat and much hair to thank it, and it was given intelligence and speech not unlike Gilmithiën herself. The lady multiplied the animal so that there were many, and she promised that they were her most beloved creation. And the ocean she too thanked for its mercy; she lowered the land slightly, and the water filled the still pools and connected, so that the land now dotted the ocean in small islands. And here she named this congregation of islands and shallow water Kangolar, for Kango was the ocean and Lar was the land, and this was their union. She named the small animals Neyre, lickers. and that they named themselves too. Their small stature made them dwarves in human languages.
Historical Basis
There is little reason to believe that the searising is an accurate historical account. There are few parallels between the Dwarven Alior and Gilmithiën and the human portrayal of it. Aframir is not in fact an endless sea, but rather a rock made by Eron. Mielah, the true lady of water, is never mentioned in any form of the legend. Gilmithiën is named only Namłu by the Dwarves, and Namłu has few similarities to our comprehension of the true Gilmithiën. Perhaps Gilmithiën came to the dwarves in another form and with another body, and purposefully deceived their race. The motives of the master crafters are ever enigmatic, and perhaps the kernel of truth in the tale of the Searising is forever clouded in the mists of the past. There are parallels however, such as the existence of the continent of Kangolar and its shattered, archipelago-like structure.
Date of Setting
-11.000 BP ~ -1000 BP
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