he light sounds of song and
raucous laughter fill the air, dark forms dance and weave among each other on
the cobbled streets. A cold Eastern wind blows through the merrymakers and a
slight shudder passes through the collective crowds. Several eyes turn to the
horizon tracking the sun as it begins its journey behind the mountains. There is
still time, night has not come yet, so they continue with their merriment. In
but a few moments the first sign of dusk is upon the world, and the revelers
speed up their actions, seemingly fearing the coming night. As the sky dims and
the last rays of the great golden orb disappear, people
begin to halt in their celebration.
With the fading of the last fingers of light a booming erupts from the East.
Boom, the people jump in fright. Boom, all eyes are to the East.
Boom, there is silence. A strong voice assaults the silence, “Listen to
the telling of our death and our rebirth. Listen to the telling of your God.
Listen to the tale of Lorfurno.” The firm voice belies the aged man who
speaks. The high priest is small and aged, yet his voice and arm are strong, the
staff of his office held high. The iron tip, which caused the booming, seemingly
catches the last of the non-existent light.
“The heavens were filled with many a sparkling world full of life, when we
were but a barren rock. The Forgotten gods came to this land and continued their
works of magic and creation. Many a wonder and marvel they made, yes, and many a
thing of evil. For they were gods of balance, and for every beauteous creation,
they also made a nightmare. We were their final creation, their children of love
and labor, and juxtaposed were the shadows that lived. Our people flourished and
grew, creating many mighty things in our own right, and the living shadows were
kept away in their swamps.
Disaster struck, for some unknown reason the Forgotten Gods decided to leave
us, to move on in their creation. With them, went their magic, the very thing
that held our world together. One by one the gods left, and with each one’s
leaving did more become lost to us. The sun disappeared; the bindings on our
juxtaposed side were gone. We were under constant siege from the newly released
shadows; the night that had fallen was their friend and aided them in their
battles. More, and more gods left us; the bindings on the very ground itself
were soon gone. The god who created the shadows stayed to see the final
destruction of our people. He came down himself in the form of an enormous
Leviathan. His dark rippling scales pierced the ocean as
he arrived. Sinuous whips of his body drove him to great depths below the land.
He used his might to heave against the land. Great shakes and destruction
ensued; soon we were adrift upon his back. Half of our culture was drowned or
hidden by crashing rock. We were lost. Our people were finished.
After watching our pain, and hearing our hopeless pleas the last of the
Forgotten Gods came down. He came as an immense black bull, with shining horns.
He used his coloration to slip into the world without the Leviathan knowing.
Using his powerful body he swam to the depths of the sea, there to confront the
Leviathan. Months they fought, neither getting the upper hand. The sinuous,
slippery Leviathan using speed and cunning to try to overcome the pure power and
strength of will of the mighty Bull. The only signs of
the battle here on land were huge waves crashing upon the world, wiping away
cities and people.
The last of the battle happened when the Leviathan twisted and turned, too
cunning for his own good, and the Bull thrust his horn deep into the flesh of
the Leviathan. The Leviathan left quickly so it might heal, and not be
completely vanquished. With a bellow of triumph that echoed throughout the
world, the great Bull heaved his mighty head high, his horns piercing the very
earth, the tips rising above the ground.
He halted the movement of our lands, and his defeat of the Leviathan brought
back some of the magic that was lost with the leaving of the Forgotten Gods. The
sun rose again in all of its fiery splendour. Our land was now encircled by
impassable mountains, the living shadows safely trapped behind their towering
girth. One mighty horn is near the city Simildis, the other is far to the North.
In time a priest came to us, and taught us the Bull’s name, and how to worship
him.”
The priest tiredly lowers the heavy staff. The multitudes of people are upon
their knees and stomachs in supplication to Lorfurno. Many weep in praise at
their saving from the vile Leviathan and his hordes of shadows. The high priest
peers towards the horizon, where the first trailers of light can be seen in the
East as dawn approaches.
His arm given a few moments of rest, is ready for the invocation of morning. He
thuds his staff down again, each thud signalling a new chant, the people join in
with him. Boom, “Lorfurno is our Savior”. Boom,
“Lorfurno is our God”. Boom, “Lorfurno is our Father”. The
priest nods in grim satisfaction and bids them to rise and enjoy the day
Lorfurno has given them.
