A log popped and hissed loudly, sending sparks drifting into the stone room. Grahlius drew her child a little closer into her breast, sighing heavily. The little girl reached up, her small fingers twirling around her the wispy hairs protruding from her mother’s chin, just like her wife had used to do. She stroked her child’s hair tenderly, feeling the lack of ease this night always brought with it.
The table was carved from the Tadilisus tree itself. The gods that sat around it would fade from memory long before the table turned to dust. It was carved by Drugar himself with axe, knife, and chisel forged by his own hands. Hewn from a single piece of wood, the piece was near unbreakable.
Around it sat the nine gods of the Astar Uln. They had been called to council by Silwyn to discuss leaving the realm of Yurilda for the first time to explore Samsarras. There would be danger and none knew what would happen to Yurilda if all the Astar Uln were not present. The debate lasted a long time.
“Look at it. All that untapped power. It is chaos! Beautiful and untamed! The beings of this place are all too eager to throw their lives away to one demon or another. They tear down each others cities. Why do we not have this sort of glory?”
Druhaus’s fingers trailed over the glass ball, leaving a smear of grease. Her face was twisted in a jagged, uneven smile, her eyes wide with excitement and mischievous delight. Silwyn ignored her, instead watching as the lands of Samsarras scrolled past her in rapid succession. There were oceans and forests, mountains and deserts. Some of the people of this world soared on great wings while others burrowed into the earth. There was such wonderment!
She giggled, her golden hair blowing in the eternal breeze. Silwyn’s eyes danced about the horizon, scanning it for something new. She’d been to the ends of Yurilda and back. She had seen all that was to be seen. Still, she felt mirthful.
Tadis was paying no attention to her, instead gathering berries. For each one they picked, another instantly grew in its place. Red juice stained their teeth and chin, as Tadis made sure to sample each handful. They were content and in their place.
“Tadis, you know there are other places, don’t you?”
The Astar Uln Pantheon, also called “The Companions,” are worshiped by the wood elves and some others, though many more prayed to them in past eras. This is their story, according to the Elves of the wild.
The darkness was barren, save for a seed and an endless wind that gently moved through it. The wind was cool and soft, the kind that whispers love poems to bare skin in the spring time. That was the wind that existed before all other things. That was the wind that would bring the rain.
With the needle and thread, Braxult strengthened her creation. It created great depressions in the ground where it crashed into this new world. She opened the vial of tears to fill them, creating Oceans and rivers.
Braxult hung the spark in the heavens and watched as light and heat bathed her creation. Next she hung the gem and gold piece so that they might reflect the light of this new sun into the dark places of the world. The light would keeping the Sribinet from entirely consuming it, keeping it forever hers until even the sun and the moons died.
Braxult recognized the chain. Creator abused created. She reasoned that it was her duty to create and abuse as well. The demon of death needed life to fulfill this need. Only the living would fear dying, which would perhaps be their biggest torment. She stole some of the darkness and molded it with her bare hands. Soon, she had a mass of land floating in a sea of dark, though it barely stayed together. There was no life to be found on it. Braxult realized that, while death can give meaning to life, it can not create it.
She wandered the darklands alone, not knowing what to do. She came upon Yarllath, hammering upon a great anvil. The sparks shot off into the darkness, casting little patches of light.
Luln was free. There was none to stop his rage. All across Sribinet, he caused destruction and pain. Where his siblings crossed his path, they suffered. Where his mother was to be found, she wept from his fury.
Time passed in Sribinet and it did not, as is the way in the demon realm. The passage of ages was not as mortals would one day know. The three grew to adulthood, and they became envious of their parents. Luln wished to be father. Braxult wished to be mother. Erethalion only wished for change. Together, the siblings conspired.
One day, Jeragroth came to inflict harm on the three, for his pleasure and that of the darkness.
In the days of old, many cultures believed the world was created by demon kind. While the majority of the world today worships the dragon gods, there are still small pockets whose prayers are directed toward the oldest gods. In dark ruins and ancient temples on the fringes of the civilized worlds, those worshipers read from decaying texts, spreading the tales of the very creation of the world itself. What follows is one such account…