Story of Artur - An Alternative Creation Myth
A world spun through the void, orbiting a warm, nurturing star. Upon it life flourished in abundance and variety. Two beings straddled the world, each with an assigned task. Rathar took the multitudes of the fibers of life and power, and with care she wove each into the complex latticework of Order, forming a mighty single braided cord. Opposite Rathar stood another, Mythar, who gripped upon the cord, and with terrible wanton frenzy he tore apart the strands, letting them fly about in Chaos, until Rathar seized the strands and again wove them together. Each followed the dictates of his or her nature and to all other beings was indifferent. They were the Two Blind Gods of the Beginning. Such was the nature of the universe when it was in its infancy. In the endless process of the two deities' work, tiny strands of the fibers had eluded Rathar, falling to the soil of the world below. From these had come the most wondrous of creation's magic: life.
Artur was pulled from his mother's womb by the ungentle hands of the drow midwife. Igrin drew her sword and slashed the umbilical that tied her son to her. Her face was drawn with the pain of birth as she snarled, "That is the last you'll have from me without a struggle." The drow ran with the newborn Valheru and handed it over to an elf who waited without the mountain hall.
The elf knew his duty. No Valheru lived without struggle. It was the way of things. The elf carried the silent baby, who had not uttered a sound since birth. The infant had been born aware, a tiny thing, but not one without power.
The elf reached the place he had selected and left the baby exposed atop the rocks, facing the setting sun, unclothed and uncovered.
The infant Artur regarded his surroundings, names and concepts growing with each passing minute. A scavenger came sniffing toward the infant, and with a mental scream of rage the tiny Valheru sent it scurrying.
Toward evening a creature flew high above, soaring on broad wings. It regarded the thing upon the rocks and wondered if it was food. Circling lower, it was suddenly called upon by the infant.
Artur saw the giant eagle as it circled and knew it, that it was his creature to command. In primitive images he ordered the giant bird to land, then to hunt. Within minutes the bird returned with a flopping river fish, twice the baby's size, which it shredded with beak and talon, giving the scraps to the baby. As it was for all his kind, Artur's first meal was raw, bloody flesh.
For the first night the great eagle covered the infant with her wings, as she would her own young. Within days a dozen birds cared for the baby.
The Valheru grew, quickly, far faster than the children of other races. Within a summer's span the child could run down a deer, killing it with a stunning blast of the mind, and eating its flesh after tearing it from the carcass with bare hands.
Other minds occasionally touched the infant's, who would pull back. Instinctively he knew his own kind were the beings to be feared most, until he had sufficient power to carve his own place in their society.
His first conflict came as he ended his first year with the giant eagles. Another youth, Kai, the so called King of the Bats, arrived in the dead of night, using his servants to locate the youthful Artur. They struggled, each seeking to absorb the power of the other, but Artur finally prevailed. With the powers of Kai added to his own, Artur began seeking out fit opponents. He hunted other youths, as Kai had hunted him, and seven others fell before him. He grew in strength and power, taking the title Ruler of the Eagles' Reaches, and flew upon the back of a giant bird in the hunt. He tamed the first of the mighty dragons he would ride, and after destroying his mother Igrin in battle, he took her hall as his own. For years he grew in stature, and soon he was acknowledged one of the mightiest of his race.
He hunted and took sport with his drow women, and occasionally mated with one of his own kind when the heat came upon her and powerful lusts overrode the battle urge he felt toward his own kind. Of those unions only two offspring survived. His first child was Gwendoline, whom he fathered in his early days, and the second was Mordren , who resulted from his mating with Gwendoline. Matters of relationship meant nothing to the Valheru, save as points of reference.
He raided across the heavens with his brethren when the need for plunder rose up within them like a thing of mindless want. He took his eldar servants with him, riding behind him on the backs of his dragons, to catalog and care for his plunder. He knew the universe, and it trembled at the thunder of the Dragon Host when they roared into the skies. Other star-spanning races challenged the Valheru, but none survived. The Contemplators of Per, with their powers to manipulate the stuff of life, were cast down and their secrets lost with them. The Tyrant of the Cormoran Empire sent forth the might of a thousand worlds. Ships the size of cities sped through the void to unleash mighty engines of war upon the invaders. The Dragon Lords obliterated them without hesitation, and the Tyrant died screaming in the lowest basement of his palace while his world was destroyed above him. The Masters of Majinor and their dark magic were swept away by the Dragon Host. The Grand Alliance, the Marshals of Dawn, the Siar Brotherhood, all attempted to resist. All were destroyed. Of all who stood before the Valheru, only the Lorekeepers of the Aal, the supposed first race, managed to avoid destruction, but even the Aal could not oppose the Dragon Host. In the multitudes of universes, the Valheru were supreme.
For ages Artur lived as his people had always lived, fearing none, and worshipping only Rathar, She who was called Order, and Mythar, He who was called Chaos, the Two Blind Gods of the Beginning.
Then came the call, and Artur went to meet with his brethren. It was an odd call, one unlike any before, for there was no bloodlust rising in his breast to take them beyond the stars to raid other worlds. Instead it was a call to meeting, where the Valheru would gather, to speak to one another. It was a strange concept.
Upon the plain, south of the mountains and the great forest, they stood in circle, the hundreds who were the race. In the center stood Mordren, who called himself Lord of Tigers. Two of his creatures waited one at each hand, powerful arms crossed, their tiger faces set in fierce snarls. They were as nothing to the Valheru, only posing as a reminder that Mordren was, by commonly held opinion, the strangest of their kind. He had ideas of new things.
"The order of the universe is changing," he said, pointing to the heavens. "Rathar and Mythar have fled, or have been deposed, but for whatever cause, Order and Chaos, the Two Blind Gods of the Beginning.
Chaos have no more meaning. Mythar let loose the strands of power and from them the new gods arise. Without Rathar to knit the strands of power together, these beings will seize that power and establish an order. It is an order we must oppose. These gods are knowing, are aware, and are challenging us."
"When one appears, kill it," answered Artur, unconcerned by Mordren's words.
"They are our match in power. For the moment they struggle among themselves, seeking each dominion over the others as they strive to gain mastery of that power left by the Two Blind Gods of the Beginning. But that struggle will end and then shall our existence be threatened. They will turn their might upon us."
Artur said, "What cause for concern? We fight as we have before. That is the answer."
"No, there needs be more. We must fight in harmony, not each alone, lest they overwhelm us.'
Of late, an odd voice had come to Artur, a voice with a name. The name was lost upon him now, but the voice spoke. You must be apart.
The Ruler of the Eagles' Reaches said, "Do what you will. I will have none of it." He ordered his mighty dragon Bahamut into the sky and flew home.
Time passed, and Artur would occasionally return to the sight of his brethren working. A strange thing, like the cities on other worlds, was fashioned by magic arts and the work of slaves. In it the Valheru resided, even as it was being fashioned. As never before in their history, they became for a time a cooperative society of beings, their combative nature stemmed by a compact, a truce. It was alien to Artur.
Shortly before the city was completed, Artur sat upon his dragon's back, regarding his work. It was a windy day, bitter cold as winter approached.
A roar from above caused Bahamut to trumpet a reply. "Do we fight?" asked the mighty dragon.
"No. We wait."
Artur ignored the disappointment he sensed in Bahamut. Another dragon, black as coal, landed and cautiously approached Artur.
"Has the Ruler of the Eagles' Reaches finally come to join us?" asked Mordren, his black-and-orange striped armor glinting in the harsh light as he dismounted.
"No. I simply watch," dismounting also, answered Artur,
"You alone have not agreed."
"Joining to plunder across the cosmos is one thing, Mordren. This...this plan of yours is madness."
"What is this madness? I know not of what you speak. We are. We do. What more is there?"
"This is not our way."
"It is not our way to let others stand against our will. These new beings, they contest with us."
Artur looked skyward, regarding those signs that indicated Mordren was correct about the struggle for power between the newly aborning gods. "Yes, that is so." He remembered those other star-faring races they had faced, the mortal beings who had fallen before the Dragon Host. "But they are not like others. They also are formed from the very stuff of this world, as are we."
"What does that matter? How many of our kin have you killed? How much blood has passed your lips? Whoever stands against you must be killed, or kill you. That is all."
"What of those left behind, the drow and the elves?" He used the terms that had come to differentiate between the slaves of the household and the slaves of the fields and woods.
"What of them? They are nothing."
"They are ours." Artur felt a strange presence within himself and knew the other, the one whose name often eluded him, was causing him to be filled with alien cares.
"You have grown strange under your mountains, Artur. They are our servants. It is not as if they possessed true power. They exist for our pleasure, nothing more. What concerns you?"
"I do not know. There is something" - he paused, as if hearing a call to some other place-"something wrong in the ordering of these events. I think we risk not only ourselves, but the very fabric of the universe."
Mordren shrugged and began returning to his dragon. "What matter? If we fail, then we are dead. What matter if the universe ceases with us?" Mordren returned to his dragon. Mounting, he said, "You ponder issues that are meaningless."
Mordren flew off and Artur was left to face these odd, new feelings within himself.
Time passed, and the Ruler of the Eagles' Reaches watched the final work upon Mordren's city. When it was done, Artur came and found his people once more in council. He walked along a broad avenue, one lined with tall pillars, each adorned with a tiger's head carving. He was mildly amused by Mordren's vanity.
Walking down a long ramp, he reached the chamber within the earth. He found the vast hall filled with the Valheru. Gwendoline, she who called herself Emerald Lady of The Fell, said, "Have you come to join us, Father Husband?" She was flanked by two of her servants, created in open imitation of Mordren's. They were psychic powers, grown as large as the drow. White eyes flickered with nictitating membranes as they fixed upon Artur.
"I have come to witness folly."
Mordren drew his black blade, but another, Gawin, Monarch of the Black Lake, cried, "Spill Valheru blood and the compact is void!"
The Lord of Tigers resheathed his sword. "It is well you come late, or we should have seen an end to your mockery."
Artur said, "I have no fear of you. I only wish to see what you have fashioned. This is my world, and that which is mine is not to be threatened."
The others regarded him with cold eyes and Gawin said, "Do what you will, but know our purpose cannot be balked. As mighty as you are, Ruler of the Eagles' Reaches, you cannot oppose us all. Watch as we do what we must."
In concert, under Mordren's direction, a great magic was forged. For an instant Artur felt a gut wrenching pain, which passed almost instantly, leaving only a faint memory. A giant stone appeared upon the floor of the hall, a flat-topped, circular green thing with facets, glowing like an emerald lit with inner fire. Mordren came to stand over it, and placed his hand upon it. It pulsed with energy as he said, "Behold, the final tool. The Aquiline Heart."
Without comment, Artur withdrew from the hall, marching back toward the waiting Bahamut. A voice from behind caused him to turn and he saw Gwendoline hurrying after.
"Father-Husband. Will you not join us?"
He felt a strange urgency toward her, almost as when the heat came upon her, but different. He did not understand the odd feeling. It is affection, came the voice of the other. He ignored that voice and said, "Daughter-Wife, our Brother-Son has begun that which spells final destruction. He is mad."
She looked at him strangely. "I don't know what you mean. I do not know that word. We do what we must. I had wished to have you at my side, for you stand as mighty as any of us, but do what you will. Oppose us at your risk." With no further words, she left him and returned to the hall where the next great magic would be undertaken.
Artur mounted his dragon and returned to the Eagles' Reaches.
As Artur entered the hall of his mountain domicile, the skies above reverberated with the sound of distant thunder. And he knew the Dragon Host flew between worlds.
For weeks the skies were angry and without substance, as the stuff of creation flowed from horizon to horizon. Madness was without limit in the universe, as the Valheru rose up to challenge the new gods. Time was without meaning, and the very fabric of reality rippled and flowed, and in the center of his hall, Artur brooded.
Then he summoned Bahamut and flew to that odd place on the plain, that city of Mordren's making. And he waited.
Mad vortices of energy crashed across the heavens. Artur could see the very fabric of time and space rent and folding in upon itself. He knew it was almost time. He sat quietly upon the back of Bahamut and waited.
A clarion sounded, that alarm he had erected in concert with the world, which told him the moment he had awaited was upon him. Urging Bahamut upward, Artur searched for what he knew must appear before the mad display in the skies. The dragon stiffened under him and he saw his prey. The figure of Mordren grew discernible as he slowed his black dragon. An odd something appeared in Mordren's eyes, something alien. The other voice said, "It is horror."
Bahamut sped forward. The great dragon roared his challenge, answered by Mordren's black. Then the two clashed in the sky.
Quickly it was over, for Mordren had surrendered too much of his essence to create the madness which filled the skies.
Artur landed lightly near the twisted body of his foeman and came to stand over him. The fallen Valheru looked up at his attacker and whispered, "Why?"
Pointing upward, Artur said, "This obscenity should never have been allowed. You bring an end to all we knew."
Mordren looked heavenward, where his brethren battled the gods. "They were so strong. We could never have dreamed." His face revealed his terror and hate as Artur raised his golden blade to end it. "But I had the right!" he screamed.
Artur severed Mordren's head from his shoulders, and suddenly both body and head vanished in a hiss of smoke. Leaving no trace, the fallen Valheru's essence returned skyward, to mix with that mindless thing of anger which battled the gods. With bitterness Artur said, "There is no right. There is only power." Alone of his kind, he could understand the mocking irony in his words. He retired to his cavern to await the final outcome of the Chaos Wars.
Time was without meaning as time itself was a weapon used in battle, but in some sense it passed while the new gods warred with what had been the Dragon Host. Then the gods moved in concert, those who had survived the internecine warfare whereby each established his place in the hierarchy of things, and they focused their unified attention upon the Valheru. They moved as a force of power beyond the maddest dream of Mordren, and as a body they cast the Valheru from the universe. They cast them into another dimension of space and time and moved to deny the Valheru a way back. In near-mindless rage the Valheru sought to return home, to reach that thing left against this day, that thing denied to them by one of their own. Artur had prevented their victory, and now they were being blocked from their homeworld. In their anger and anguish they turned their might upon the lesser races of the new universe. From world to world they rampaged, destroying anything and everything in their path. From world after world they tore the essence of life, the secrets of magics, and the powers of suns. Before them lay warm, verdant worlds circling living suns; behind them lay frigid, lifeless orbs spinning about burned-out stars. In their frantic attempt to return to the world of their nurturance, they delivered utter ruination to all they touched. Lesser races banded together, attempting to oppose this raging thing. At first they were swept away, then they slowed it, then at last they found a way to escape. One lesser race, called human, turned its full attention to escape, and ways were found to flee. Mankind and other races discovered a haven. Gates were opened to other worlds, and the races fled, scattering themselves through time and space.
Great holes in the fabric of the universe were opened. Dwarves and men, orcs and giants, all came through the cracks in reality, the rifts between one universe and another. New races, new creatures, came to Eldarr, and upon this world they sought a place.
Then the gods moved to close off the world of Eldarr to the Dragon Lords for eternity. They turned to the rifts they had allowed to form, and they sealed them. Suddenly the last route between the stars closed off. A barrier was erected. The Dragon Host tried in vain to penetrate this curtain, but to no avail. They were denied return to Eldarr's universe and they raged in frustration, vowing to find means of entrance.
Then it was over. The Chaos Wars, the Days of the Mad Gods' Rage, the Time of Star Death: by whatever name it would come to be called, the clash between that which was and that which followed was finished. When it was over, and the skies had again been cleansed of insanity, Artur left his cavern. Returning to the plain before the city of Mordren, he observed the aftermath of the mightiest struggle recorded. He landed Bahamut, then allowed the dragon to hunt. For a long time he silently waited for something, he couldn't be sure what.
Hours passed, then at last the other voice spoke. "What is this place?"
"The Desolation of the Chaos Wars. Mordren's monument, the lifeless tundra that was once great grasslands. Few living things abide here. Most creatures flee to the north and more hospitable climes."
Who are you?
Artur felt amusement. Laughing, he said, "I am what you are becoming. We are as one. So you have said many times." His laughter ceased. He was the first of his race to laugh. There was a sadness underlying the humor, for to understand humor marked Artur as something beyond any Valheru, and he knew he was witness to the beginning of a new era. I had forgotten.
Artur, last of the Valheru, called Bahamut back from his hunt. Mounting his steed, he glanced at the spot where Mordren had been defeated, marked only by ash. Bahamut took to the skies, high above the aftermath of destruction.
It is worthy of sorrow.
"I think not," said the Valheru. "There is a lesson, though I cannot bring myself to know it. Yet I sense you do." Artur closed his eyes a moment as his head throbbed. The other voice had again vanished from his mind. Ignoring the wonder of this odd personality who had come to influence him over the years, he turned his attention to his last task. Over mountains the Valheru rode, seeking those things enslaved by his kind. Within the forests of the northern continent, Artur raced over the stronghold of the tiger-men. In a voice loud enough to be heard, he cried, "Let it be known that from this day you are a free people."
The leader of the tiger-men called back, "What of our master?"
"He is gone. Your destiny is in your own hands. By my word I, Artur, say this is so."
Then to the south, to where the Fell race created by Gwendoline resided, he went. And there his words were greeted with hisses of terror and anger. "How may we survive without our mistress, she who is our goddess mother?"
"That is for you to decide. You are a free people."
The Fell were not pleased and set about to discover means how their mistress could again be recalled. As a race they made a vow, that until the end of time they would work to bring back her who was their mother and their goddess, Gwendoline. From that day forward, the priesthood became the ultimate power within the society of the Fell.
Around the world he flew, and everywhere he passed, the words were spoken: "Your destiny is your own. All are a free people.” At last he reached the strange place fashioned by Mordren and the others. There gathered were the elves. Landing upon the plain, the Valheru said, "Let the word go forth. From this moment you are free."
The elves looked among themselves, and one said, "What does this mean?"
"You are free to do as you wish. No one will care for you or direct your lives."
The spokesman bowed and said, "But, master, those who are wisest among us have gone with your brethren, and with them go the lore, the knowledge and the power. We are weak without the eldar. How, then, will we survive?"
"Your destiny is now your own to forge as best you may. Should you be weak, you will perish. Should you be strong, you will survive. And mark you well, there are new forces let loose upon the land. Creatures of alien nature are come here, and with them shall you strive or make peace, as you will, for they also seek their destiny. But there will be a new order, and in it must you find a place. It may be you shall need raise yourself above others and exercise dominion, or it may be they will destroy you. Or perhaps peace is possible between you. That is for decide. I am done with you all, save this one last you to command. This place is forbidden, upon pain of my wrath. Let none enter it again."
With a wave of his hand he fashioned mighty magic and the small city of the Valheru slowly sank under the ground. "Let the dusts of time bury it and let none remember it. This is my will."
The elves bowed and said, "As it is willed, master, so you will be obeyed." The eldest of the elves turned to his brethren and said, "None may enter this place: let none approach. It is vanished from mortal eye; it is not remembered."
Artur said, "Now you are a free people."
The elves, those who had lived most removed from their masters, said, "We shall go, then, to a place where we may live at peace." They moved to the north, seeking a place where they could live in harmony.
Others said, "We shall be wary of these new beings, for we are those who have the right to inherit the mantles of power."
Artur turned and said, "Pitiful creatures, have you not observed how power means nothing? Find another path." But the drow were already leaving, his words unheard, as they began to dream the dreams of power. They had set foot upon the Dark Path even as they began to follow their brothers to the west. In time their brothers would drive them off, but for now they were as one.
Others moved silently away, ready to destroy any who opposed them, not content to seek out their masters' power, certain of their own ability to take by force of arms whatever they wished. Those elves had been twisted by the forces let loose during the Chaos Wars and were already drawing away from their brethren. They would be called the glamredhel, the mad elves, and as they set out for the south, they turned suspicious eyes upon those moving northward. They would hide themselves away, using science and sorcery plundered from alien worlds to build giant monuments in imitation of their masters, to protect themselves from their kindred, while plotting to make war upon them.
Disgusted at their behavior, Artur returned to his hall, to reside until that time when he was to leave this life, preparing the way for the other. The universe was changed, and within his hall Artur felt himself alien to the newly forged order. As if reality itself rejected his nature, he fell into torpor, a coma-like sleep, where his being grew diffused and began to suffuse his armor, the power being passed into artifacts, to await another who would come to wear his mantle. At the last he stirred and said, "Have I erred?"
"Now you know doubt."
"This strange quietness within, what is it?"
"It is death approaching."
Closing his eyes, the last Valheru said, "I thought as much. So few of my kind lived beyond battle. It was a rare thing. I am the last. Still, I would like to fly @baha once more.
He is gone. Dead ages past.
Artur struggled with vague memories. Weakly he said, "But I flew him this morning."
It was a dream. As is this.
"Am I then also mad?" The thought of what was seen in Mordren's eyes haunted Artur.
You are but a memory, said the other. This is but a dream.
"Then I will do what is planned. I accept the inevitable. Another will come to take my place."
So it has happened already, for I am the one who came, and I have taken up your sword and put upon your mantle; your cause is now mine. I stand against those who would plunder this world, said the other.
The one called Black Eyes.
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