Epicca Skjall by Fefee Groon

The sky ran red with the blood of the gods. Centuries and millennia passed like a raging river. The gods birthed with a gift of immortality, perhaps a curse, rather? Yet, they bleed just as man. For when they are stricken down, be it by steel or mana, their bodies die, but their soul keeps life. They must await a new form of physical fauna to take shape. These vessels age and show scars of previous battles. The Elder God, Fjall-der-ahn, has held the same man-vessel for over 20 millennia. But today, of all the eons of days that have expired, Fjall-der-ahn fell. By the blade of he’s own brother, no less. The Rodnic say, this betrayal by His brother, Galdruuk, caused a tear to form as he lay upon the ground feeling his mortal shell spill. The tear fell through the heavens and through the sky. It impacted the ground with such force, be it a tear from a god and Fjall-der-ahn at that, that the entire lower plane shook. The Rodnic believed they were no men, no beast, no bird, and no fauna on the plane. But the tear of Fjall-der-ahn, pierced through the snow and ice and hit an enchanted rock that had fallen through the sky times past ago. The tear struck the rock with such force and mana that it had begun the process the Rodnic called, “Fjall-brozen”. The rock turned into the first seed on the Plane. Fjall-der-ahn’s daughter, Fregi, noticed the seed. She soon began to nurture and care for the vessel as it were her own child. The seed soon then sprouted out of the ground with such force, it launched the ice and debris causing it to melt and created the first fields of mud and bare stone. After many more years had passed, Fregi took the blood of her own father and placed it with the now blossoming sapling. She named the tree, Gradsil. The tree soon birthed eyes and a mouth just as the gods bore. After much time had passed, Gradsil began to feel aloof and void of company on his planet. He cherished the moments of conversing with Fregi. He made a request to her one day: “Dearest, Goddess. I call unto thee.” Gradsil boomed. “yes, my child.” Fregi’s voice was a ballad. Her calling filled Gradsil with an increasing fervor that he could not quell. “Fregi, my Goddess, I wish to bear the fruit of life. I wish to birth the labors of living flesh and blood of my creation.” Fregi grinned and giggled at his words. “Of course, my child. Do as thee wishes.” Gradsil had grew into a grand spruce that stretched into the sky of what he now called ‘Skjall’. After, much thought and effort, Gradsil began to labor the fruits of life. He bore his first fruit. He watched the pod grow until it one day fell. It hit the ground with such force, it burst. Revealing, a nude humanoid. Gradsil’s first creation: The Ice Giant. The giant opened his eyes and stood. He gazed around—the world was nauseating. “You shall be my first child.” Gradsil spoke as he beamed at his creation. “Thy name shall be Gramlock.” The ice giant blinked. He could not speak. “Do not fret, I am thy father. No harm shall come unto thee.” Gradsil taught Gramlock his language, it was an ancient one, more so even than Rodnic. Regretfully the language has been lost to time. Time wore down upon the speakers until they remained sterile and exposed to the frigid grasp of the Death God, Brela. Gramlock took this new language and decided to explore the lands of Skjall and name the plane as he went. Gramlock was gone for 500 years. Gradsil began to worry for his only son but knew the journey must be extreme and arduous. He knew not to doubt his son.

Gradsil was enchanting more fruits of life when he noticed a figure in the distance growing towards him. “Could it be? May I believe mine own eyes?” Gradsil said. Gramlock’s figure began to sharpen. His knees trembled, his eyes were grayed, his beard reached the ground, and his back was slumped. He edged his way towards his Father. Before kneeling at his roots. Gradsil wailed, “My own and only son, what has happened to thee?” Gramlock did not answer his question. He only spoke the language of his ancients. “Fear” With this fleeting exhalation of Gramlock’s final breath, Gradsil entered a frenzy of emotional distress. He felt his wooden core turn to liquid and his heart burn with sorrow. Gradsil, now alack with the loss of his one and only son, cursed towards Fregi. “How you sit, above the skies! You wish to be superior than your own creation! How selfish of thee! Your evil knows no bounds, my only son lies at my roots void of his essence and withdrawing my core. Could you not give my power to create those of gods? How wretched the gods are.” Fregi heard his cries. She knew his pain but knew not to fault at his wails. She held her ground before breaking through the sky and answering his summons. “Gradsil, my son” she began, “know my heart is but a clew of these pains you feel. Our godhood is not by choice, we were born into a world of suffer. Our thole is our mark of immortality and is a gift I do not prithee unto those of innocents. Gradsil, thee wishes for the gift to bestow immortality, yet is a curse.” Gradsil stewed with his toils. He knew not what to say to the goddess. He thought of curses, pleas, and wishes. He drove his eyes over his only fallen son. He soon then began to weep. The tears ran down his colossal, harden trunk. They spread across his roots like lighting bolts dash around the clouded sky. At once, his leaves and fruit all fell to the ground. His tears began to nourish these seeds. And soon sprouted all the creatures of Skjall. Gradsil, filled with sorrow entered a deep slumber. As Fregi witnessed his new creations spread, she could not help but feel a wonderous smile spread across her golden face. As Gradsil fell into comatose, she lowered herself into the Skjall plane as a humanoid and approached Gradsil, she placed her palm on his trunk. She chanted a rune into his bark still visible to this day.