Enkiran Siryetan, or Typhon the Betrayer

Love is a peculiar medicine, capable of fostering immense happiness and healing, yet highly addictive and disastrous in withdrawal. All people suffer from the tribulations of love, but to follow sorrow with action is reserved for a few determined, or unhinged esseythu. That is the story of Tyrphos, who was a mere olûndari, but possessed by a determination far beyond his station. Tyrphos is remembered by history as a monster who torn a swathe of destruction across Othos in the name of revenge, but he was not always such. He was once a half-elf of humble upbringing from Zorídas named Enkiran Siryetan. The exact details of his early life are uncertain, but it is known that he was born to a Aemar father, most likely a settler to the region from Everos, and an Etayen mother of an established Voletal family. He thrived as a youth in the Principality of Oseheth, southwest of Tarimikras and within the shadow of ancient Étunas that once ruled the whole of Vehod Lohas. He dwelled there for more than twenty years while he worked upon his father's farm, which was one of many among the fertile hills. It was in those years that he met the love of his life, Naiara, a beautiful woman skilled in the art of Atûn's gift. He was without extraordinary talent, but he fell madly in love with her the moment he laid eyes upon her. His love for her, and the affection she gave in return altered his life forever, and in time changed the history of Othos.

Naiara was a kind spirit by nature and used her mastery of Vojûn openly and to the benefit of the destitute and needy. She brought warmth to the cold, healing to the sick, and hope to the weak. No place was beyond her, nor was any person beneath her. The people of Othos knew her fondly as the Fair Traveler to honor her transient life of good deeds. That is how she came to meet Enkiran, as a passing stranger. Her intention had been to pass through the Oseheth and head south to the Tombwood. The land there was vile and diseased, the water being undrinkable, and the soil being so laced with parasites that settlement was a death sentence. To purify those lands was to be her magnum opus, the deed that would surpass all others and grant the peoples of Othos a new land to call home. She spent years researching what she could from the Keepers of the Vestanir groves, the Atamani, and even the devotees of Euboa, who by legend made Eurobia fertile. She tempered what she had learned there with readings from across Qadal, including the great library of Karnast in Tarimikras, started by Zorius the Newcomer, and Gledgast, the home of the Edrastócel in Everos. From all them, Naiara devised a way in which she could tap into the Vojûn of the underlying land and use it to purify the area of its wretched diseases. It involved accessing the power of great pillars of stone stationed throughout southwestern Othos, known as Voladûr, which were built by the Etayen during the reign of Étunas. In those old days, the pillars were used to carry the power of Vojûn from Etal to the rest of Qadal without falling into the hands of other olûndari races. Only the Etayen themselves knew of their secrets, but Naiara had learned of their secrets. She intended to use their combined power to revive Golbesh, the Tombwood- making it fertile and fair.

The self destined quest of Naiara to use Vojûn to restore the Tombwood brought her close to Enkiran, but what kept them together during the interim months? The answer is not explicitly clear. The writings of Naiara, if any were to have existed at all, have all since decayed with time. Enkiran, later Tyrphos, was equally silent. All of his notes, musing, and other thoughts were put to the torch after his war. What can be surmised is that there was a certain magnestism between them. On the one hand, Naiara was a cosmopolitan individual with years of research and travel to her name. She was in contact with some of the greatest scholars of her age and saw herself as an aspirant to their legacies. Enkiran was none of the above- neither scholar nor cosmopolitan, nemeshari nor aspirant to any legacy. He was a simple member of the agrarian lower class, that and a Thûnetal as well- disdained by both Etayen and men alike. In the eyes of Enkiran, Naiara was something new and extraordinary- the paragon of a life that was far beyond his grasp. For Naiara, Enkiran was a carefree denizen of a picturesque village, far removed from the turmoils and troubles of Qadal. They each possessed characteristics not found in the other, and their mutual interest bred friendship, then a romantic connection.

The cruel machinations of the ever-moving world interrupted their romance. Naiara had spent weeks in the borderlands of the Tombwood, but her calling lay within, among the sparse and sorry villages of lumbermen and swamp dwellers. She told Enkiran that it was time for her to depart westward. At first, he protested for her to stay, but she was unmoved by his pleas, then he requested to accompany her. He couldn’t find it within himself to part with such an extraordinary woman, if even for a short time. The life of a villager in Othos offered a hard life and the occasionally bountiful yield, however much a rarity. Yet it offered no excitement, romance, beauty, or mystery- unlike the woman slipping from his hands. Within days of her departure to Golbesh, the young and naïve Enkiran dropped his tools into the dirt and resolved to pursue her. With only a handful of possessions, he snuck away from his ancestral home.

Mile followed mile of travel as Enkiran tracked his path across the province of Zoridas, bearing closer to the dense maze of gnarled trees which loomed in the distant horizon. His trek was fraught with perils, from roaming beasts and cunning ambushers to more mundane concerns of food and settler. The clothes upon his back were poxed with crusted mud within a week. By the time another week had passed, he was reduced to begging for food where ever he travelled. Those concerned individuals whom he encountered asked of his destination. He pondered upon it. The question was reasonable, but Enkiran had never truly considered the details. The best he could tell them was ‘south’. Where that exactly meant, however, was a complete mystery! Doubt began to seep into his mind as the trail became more difficult. Had this ad-hoc journey been a mistake; would she have wanted him to travel all that distance? Enkiran’s mind was clouded by these sorrows, but he continued along the tree-lined routes of Zoridas.

The great trek of Enkiran Siryetan stagnated in the hinterlands of southern Zoridas, just a few miles from the forst of Golbesh. Naiara’s trail was cold and the forest too vast for him to follow. The despair of failure grew in his heart, and the dishearted Enkiran wandered from village to village in aimless hope. Shadows from within blocked out all light. He had failed! He failed to find her and would never lay eyes upon Naiara during his lifetime. Defeated, Enkiran began the long trek back home- returning to the farm of his youth which he had grown to hate. His aching legs placed many miles between him and Golbesh over the passing days, passing through the same lands he had seen only weeks ago with contempt. During those days he slept in ditches beside the road and tucked himself into nooks among the trees. The rain pelted him during the night, and jeering onlookers pelted him with stones like a beggar. However, along that journey a glimmer of hope shone out from the gloom. Whilst dwelling in the muck near a village called Himelshir, Enkiran caught word of a strange event scheduled to take place in Golbesh. Deep in the forest, at a place called Telavir, a nemeshari had proclaimed their intention to purify the disease-ridden estuaries of the Golbeshir region. If successful, prosperity and settlement would flourish in the region. Enkiran immediately knew that they referred to Naiara- nobody else in Zoridas had ever undertaken such an ambitious task.

With the name Telavir upon his tongue, Enkiran rushed southward once more with nothing but his decimated boots and tore clothes- heedless of health or safety. This time he did not remain in the villages that lined the border of the forest but travelled directly to the heart of the Golbeshir- Sohenas, a place originally settled by the Demhezzar during the Awakening, conquered by the Voletal during the Ascension era, and then reconquered after the fall of Zorisghal. It was now a hub of trade for western Othos, and the primary export location for valuable Golbesh timber to the rest of Qadal. Enkiran interrogated every person in sight for the location of Telavir, merchants, beggars, and soldiers alike fell into his sights. None of them had anything more useful than a simple indication to the forest. Finally, a trader named Avidan offered to drag the wretched and dirty Enkiran to Telavir, where a caravan of bread and seed was to be delivered. The young man agreed without hesitation, and the next day he departed Sohenas with the trader and his guardsmen.

Before the caravan had passed beyond sight of Sohenas, Avidan turned to Enkiran and thrust a sword into his grimy hands. ‘Swing it well or catch an arrow for somebody worthier’ Avidan ordered with a gruff callousness. A caravan defender! Enkiran had never swung a weapon in his life, let alone defended anything more than crops from crows. That was matter enough for concern, let along Avidan’s ominous desire for muscle on the road. Enkiran held his tongue, but that familiar sense of doubt began to return. The group travelled into the great forest of Golbesh that morning, with the sun blazing high overhead. Once in the forest, however, darkness consumed them like night. The canopy of the forest decimated the light, so that it only broke through in weak strips. They traveled for two days in this twilight, and on the third day were in the proximity of Telavir. It was an isolated hamlet, even by the standards of the Golbesh. Indeed, the road the caravan rolled upon began ever sparser.

The real enemy became the thick roots of the Golbeshir and chill of the bitter nights. However, they encountered a true enemy when Telavir was only a few miles away. On that day, the caravan was stopped by a group of armed men. The leader, whose name Enkiran never caught, apparently knew Avidan well. They spoke a battle of wits, piercing one another with harsh and familiar accusations. Avidan had apparently been the honest man, while the other was always the evil brute, Enkiran gathered. For all he knew, they could have been brothers! As their debate grew in intensity, Enkiran saw an opportunity: Telavir was only a few more miles away- he was so close, and the thought of being struck dead along the road seemed unbearable. When the time was right, he skulked off from the caravan and dashed into the woods. Nobody noticed. As he leaves rushed past his face, the distant but unmistakable sounds of fighting burst out from the road.

Enkiran arrived in Telavir that very night. It was a small village, nothing more than a dozen timber frame buildings huddled together under the oppressive shadow of the forest. Misty plumes of smoke emmited from the clay chimneys of the houses, and nothing in sight could have precluded any grand rituals or ceremonies. Enkiran snuck between the hovels, and two things caught his eye: first, a great platform at the heart of the villages, formed from what seemed to be perfectly smooth stone. The second, a small camp on the edge of the village, nearly hidden by the undergrowth. Only the fire around which they settled was visible. Between them, Enkiran chose to investigate the camp. His reasoning lay in the simple fact that he neither had a place to go nor knew a single being in Telavir- perhaps they could offer lodging for the night in that sleepy town? He crouched low and snuck with care through the brush, stepping within a few yards of their tents. They were strange, foreign folk- every one of them was drapped in red and gold vestments. The tents they occupied and banners they flew were of similar style, with a great open hand in the center. Enkiran had never before seen icons of that sort in Othos, nor heard of it elsewhere.

The camping fellows caught Enkiran’ interest, and he listened to their conversation intently. An older man whom the others called Rellagan appeared to be the leader of the strange company. They spoke of banal things such as home and hardships, but one topic caught Enkiran’s attention- their mission. Rellagan explained to his men that their foray was no simple exploration of Golbesh but was a matter of hunting. In hush tones, the soldiers spoke of the nemeshari who intended to cast some miraculous spell in the heart of the village. The job of the company was to wreck vengeance in the name of Corgastor if the effort went foul. Enkiran had heard the name of Corgastor- albeit only uttered by merchants or other strange wanderers of Othos. It had meant nothing to him before, but the name now filled him with fear. The only nemeshari in all Othos they could speak of was Naiara, his lover! Enkiran fled the camp in a rush, stumbling through the bramble toward the houses. The Corgastodmar watched the shifting forest with confusion.

Armed with the fearful information of the Corgastodmar’ intentions, Enkiran began searching for Naiara through the windows of the timber houses. He peeked through one, then the next, and checked every room left exposed. Panic welled up in his stomach and chest- he could not bear to fail her once again. Doubt, that same feeling that so often pestered Enkiran, returned with acute pain. Should he inform Naiara of the danger? Did he have a right to undermine her dream with fear? The chaotic whirl of uncertainty followed him to every window sill. Finally, he found her- Naiara, his darling, tucked comfy between blankets of wool upon a bed of straw. At that moment, all the doubts and conflicting thoughts that burdened his mind crashed together in a great creshendo. He stared down upon her, silent. The decision seemed to figure itself, for he could not bring himself to speak out to her or reach out and touch her fair skin. His weeks of hardship had been endured to find Naiara, yet Enkiran was not ready to retrieve his prize. The doubt was too strong and his will too weak. He would wait until the ritual was complete.

The next day a great crowd gathered in the heart of Telavir. At the center was the platform of smooth stone, painstakingly prepared by Naiara for this very day. People ringed around it in a dense circle, jeering and whispering their uncertainties and excitement. Among them was Enkiran, waiting patiently on the outside fringes of the gathering with the other poor wretches. He scanned the crowd, searching for the foreign fellows he had seen the night prior. They were not formed together as expected, but were dispersed throughout the crowd, each man watching the platform intently. At their hips were weapons ranging from axes to swords- wary hands gripped as the hilts of each. Rellagan was at the forefront of the crowd, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed as Naiara. Enkiran could do nothing but wait in silence.

By noon, the ritual was prepared. The large mass of people began to quiet themselves, reduced to soft whispers. Naiara stood upon the smooth stone platform and addressed the crowd. She announced that she was a Vojûnic, or practicioner of Vojûn, who had traveled from Everos to Othos in order to purge the Golbesh of the diseased miasma and corrupted waters which polluted it. At first, the mere mentioning of Vojûn elicited a furious response from the crowd, but their fury was short lived. Naiara continued to speak over their cries and snarls. Telavir was the place, she explained, where Othosar people would recognize the legitimacy and beneficial properties of Vojûn. Perhaps her success would make Vojûn an accepted practice across the continent, rather than something inconsistently punished or praised. The platform at her feet was the key to this transformation. Its surface was tempered by her powers of Vojûn, and thus gained the ability to attract Vojûnic energy from within the earth- similar to the Voladûr of Etayen design.

All Telavir watched in wonder as Naiara knelt down and began to trace her fingers across the stone. Following her fingertips came streaks of white light, emerging like water from a well. She drew great arcs upon the stone which crossed and swirled through and around one another, forming magnificent shapes that were beyond the comprehension of the viewers. These white lights broke forth from the stone, engulfing Naiara before rushing off into the vast wilderness of Golbesh. Rellagan, Enkiran, and the other occupants of Telavir shuffled back and covered their eyes against the pulsating light. Amidst the brilliance, a change began to occur. The trees immediately surrounding Telavir became a fair green, sheding the dour morass that dangled from the boughs; thick undergrowth that besieged the edge of the village began to wither and recede, leaving behind plumes of black smoke in their wake; and water deep beneath the ground was purifie of all corruption. Extraordinary. It was a miracle, and one conducted before the eyes of hundreds! Those who could contain themselves began to cheer, and those who could not gawked in wonder. Regallan and the Corgastodmar with him were left speechless. However, not one living being throughout the entire Golbesh was more pleased than Enkiran Siryetan. The dream of his lover was accomplished at long last.

Whilst Naiara continued tracing her fingers across the stone, settled in deep concentration, Enkiran burst forth from the jubilant crowd to wrap his arms around her in warm embrace. It appeared a small gesture, one wrought from romantic fancies of encountering a deep-love unexpected in a dour place.

He vows revenge. He scours libraries across Othos, including that of Karnast, in an attempt to find a way to bring his love back to life.

Despite the hardest labors one in terrible grief could muster, Enkiran came to no conclusions nor hope regarding his slain lover. No lore in Esha could turn about his loss. In solitude, despair gripped Enkiran’ heart and threw him into a baleful self-loathing.

The exploits of Tyrphos the Judge were nigh innumerable, for in a short time many enemies were slain, and celestial ills turned right. Naming all these stories here or otherwise would be superfluous but suffice to mention that Tyrphos repaid this debt with great interest to the Creator of all things.

This betrayal of trust sowed terrible seeds of anger into Tyrphos’s mind. The full measure of his previous grief and sorrow returned, but his new mode was not sobbing and loathing but violent action.

Tyrphos the Judge returned to Xharothollas with visions of his own manner of betrayal in mind. This began the events of the Judge’s Rebellion for which Othos is notorious. Here forward, events shall be recorded amidst the records of that continent, for no longer was Tyrphos’s fate a personal tragedy, but a universal curse. It is here whether Tyrphos’s personal fall aligns with the wider history of Othos.