Fen'Harel Visits The Pantheon Category: Stories
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accomplished
The year was 1:20, in the Age of the Rapture, a time when the Elvhen Pantheon (had only a few centuries prior) established themselves as ruling Gods Among Elvhenan. It had not started out this way at first. Even ages long before this moment, there had been a previous dark war; one that defined the members within the Pantheon itself. They started out as a handful of well equipped soldiers; capable of wielding magic and violence in equal measure. It was they who rose up against their own King and carved their mark across the land. They alone established the Elvhen Empire for what it was in this day and age, and they named their Capitol Arlathan The Emerald City. Mortal soldiers, who then rose to kings, by now had risen to godhood.
It was still a question as to how godhood had even been established! But mostly everyone within the Pantheon at least knew, that their gratitude was given to “Dirthamen.” A beginning and an end that stemmed from the common wish to appease Elgar’nan, the All-Father and first Elvhen Emperor of all over Elvhenan. That rise had almost stretched outward to even other separate worlds...
Other members within the Pantheon had tried to please their All-Father as well. For if Elgar’nan had ever been angry or restless with his people, the entire world would suffer his fury. Mythal, the All-Mother, could only soothe Elgar’nan for so long.
Evuneblar (Moonflower) displayed his talent for crafting. He created idols and orbs that were capable of producing fast travel between their secret and separate kingdoms to the mortal realms. Thus, his name had been then as the “God of the Craft, June.” His purpose had been given to teach the elvhen how to build from the resources around them.
Din’assan (Deadly-Arrow) had the easiest of ways because she was one of Elgar’nan’s favorite children. She brought the best feasts to the table, and was greatly responsible for feeding those within the Pantheon. Thus her name had been then known as “Andruil, the Goddess of the Hunt.” Her purpose had been to teach the elvhen how to hunt meat and fend for themselves out in the wilderness.
Siona (Good’and’Sweet) was also a favorite for Elgar’nan because she stayed as a homemaker and cooked what Andruil would bring for their gatherings. Thus her name was then forever known as “Sylaise, the Goddess as the Hearthkeeper”; for Sylaise taught midwives, mothers, and homemakers of their role as one to stay at home, birth children, and make medicines and small crafts that would benefit the people as a whole.
Atish’an (Peace) had helped Elgar’nan by taking some of his workload as the All-Father off from his hands. With Mythal’s help, Atish’an carried souls over to Uthenara, “the Deep Sleep.” He cared to the Dead and taught the elvhen of burial rituals and rites that would please Elgar’nan and ensure a peaceful passing of spirit and knowledge upon the moment of death. He and Mythal used objects and landmarks that they had blessed with their magical power; such as the Soul Cairn and the Well of Sorrows. Because of this, Elgar’nan bestowed Atish’an a new name as “Felon’Din, the Friend of the Dead,” otherwise known as the God of Death.
Solas (Pride -- before he was ever named Fen’Harel) harnessed and created a source of an easy and abundant access to magic. With but a thought and a wiggle of one’s fingers, sand could turn into water and crops could grow effortlessly. Fire that burned without the use of consumable resources could warm chlled bones. The loss of loved ones would never seem as painful, because lingering pieces of the soul could have still been reached unless the Soul Cairn of Felon’Din or the Well of Sorrows from Mythal would have already collected everything of that soul. This large abundant place of fulfilled dreams, desires, raw untapped magic and unleashed ecstacy had become a world all on its own; one that Solas called “The Fade,” for it blended so very well with the Waking World as though it were a genetic mutation parasitic and beneficial. For this, Elgar’nan smiled and was willing to give Solas a new name. He would have been named “Nuvenan (Wish)”, but Solas kept his name as one of “Pride.” In doing the act had still remained humble for he did not wish to call himself anything else. His biggest desire had been to mingle with the people and share in the enjoyment of his own creation. Which ultimately meant, being lazy to rule as a King or even a God.
Athim (Humility) attempted to appease Elgar’nan with the creations of the Eluvians. These were constructs of extremely high and wide mirrors that acted as physical portals for the elvhen people to commonly use among themselves. Mythal helped Athim to create them and infused the portals of transportation with her own magic while Athim created maps for the common elves to follow. It was because of the Eluvians that fast-travel had been even possible. Places in deserts could be suddenly inhabitable. Resources could be transported through these portals to help growing colonies of different forms of elves and elvhen from all over the world and even other separate worlds.
Thus, for his efforts, Elgar’nan named Athim renewed as “Dirthamen, God and Keeper of Knowledge.” He was to teach the elvhen people of loyalty and stripped their souls of their wisdom upon their moment of death, should they have chosen in their afterlife to serve him rather than to slumber. Through this, he also taught the elvhen people of faith and Dirthamen became the first to inspire the true rulers as Gods after Elgar’nan had declared it to be so.
But for Dirthamen (Athim), it was not enough.
Dirthamen was jealous of what greatness that Solas had done before him. While Solas was able to excel in magic as if to pull things from thin air to manipulate at his will; Dirthamen had to work with physical tools and the exchanging of elements. The Equivalent Exchange was a rule of thumb that Dirthamen’s talents had been forced to abide by while Solas’ abilities had not. Again, in an effort to please their All-Father Elgar’nan, Dirthamen the God of Knowledge, displayed his talents in experimenting and of what rewards that came from it. He would not explain his experiments though---he spoke of the gift, and so his title grew to The God of Knowledge and Keeper of Secrets. Dirthamen’s experiments provided the Elvhen Pantheon with the gift of Godhood, and it was through the rules of Equivalent Exchange, on a very grand scale, that this was done. It was also one of the few secrets that he had planned to take to his Immortal Grave.
The exchange had been simple and gradually noticeable for the members of the Pantheon. Time for them had slowed down. They ceased to age, their mortal wounds healed remarkably fast from magical attacks given to them, while death could have still been a possibility -- it lead the Spirit and its Wisdom to a state of Rebirth and Continuance, and their physical and ‘previously mortal’ needs were almost non-existent. A stroll to watch the flowers bloom could take years. A nap for them could vary between months to decades. With such power and infinite strands of time, the Elvhen Pantheon became bored with one another and at times even frustrated.
It was here that the Age of Rapture was truly defined; for it was here that social hierarchy was created and the Gods lived in almost equal measure and awareness of themselves as they did with their more mortal individuals. First there was the Gods known as the Elvhen Pantheon, then there was Elvhen Nobility (which compiled of the strongest mages and richest blood closest to the labeled Gods), next was the Common Elvhen who served as farmers, teachers, craftsmen and other semi-noble trades that benefited the people, and then there were the slaves and those of manual and undesired labor.
Even worse, the ‘slaves’ of the Common and Nobility were considered the Slaves of the Slaves; for even with how very defined that the Elvhen people were, the Gods had still considered all of them to have been their personal Slaves. Through Dirthamen’s teachings (as well as the influence of other Gods mentally), nearly every elf excluding the highest of nobility were to mark their faces in their own blood as ink. The images they would depict would be in tribute whichever God or Goddess that they worshiped. Sometimes this even involved changing their own names, as per custom demanded of it.
Yet, even this had not been enough to satisfy most of the Pantheon Members, for they were fickle and restless. Thus, began years of fearful wars and bountiful banquets just for the Pantheon to entertain themselves and earn bragging rights among one another.
Solas had a pride like no other, and he lived true to his name. His temper was short and his wrath against his enemies was fierce. Indeed, he was strong-willed, sly and cocky as a fighter just as much as he had been a lover. Within his games of Desire and War, one of the greatest prizes he had ever achieved was June’s Foci (The Orb), and he struggled in multiple battles amongst June, Dirthamen and Felon’Din just in order to keep it. Solas stole the Orb and he used it often to toss into the mortal realm to watch for any interesting outcomes or he’d use it to cross over into the mortal realm himself. Solas had no intention of surrendering his new plaything, no matter how other Gods sneered and fought him.
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While the madness of bloodshed and blinded feasts continued onward, there had also been a slow and steady arrival of Humans to the Northeastern parts of Elvhenan. It seemed that during this time also, the mortal elves had began to notice the slight changes in themselves. Their long lives were gradually beginning to shorten. Mortal wounds festered and remained infected longer. Healing magic, and magic in general had become weaker. The mortal elves felt like they were fish attempting to swim in a pond filled with sludge. It was as if mortal elves were attempting to filter longevity through all of the sudden heavy pollution. They felt sickened and they prayed for answers that would never come. Instead, the Elvhen Pantheon retreated back to their confinements within the Holy Emerald Cities of Arlathan and their secret Castles of Solitude away from the mortal realms. Instead of real answers or solutions, blame was thrown to the Humans for bringing their unknown mortal diseases with them that ‘somehow’ affected the pure-blooded elves...
The truth to the mystery? It had something to do with Dirthamen’s Equivalent Exchange technique that made the Elvhen Pantheon into Gods and Goddesses. However, this was something that Dirthamen would never admit about to anyone. Instead, he had been the first to cast blame to the Humans, and there had been animosity and separation from Humans ever since.
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When prayers had reached Solas about the mysterious disease, it had been the first thing to truly grasp his attention. At this present time, not even Slavery was truly something that weighed heavy on him because he was lazy in answering to the common prayers of his people and far more aggressive and immersive in his battles and playing around. Slavery was common since his original birth, and he had even his own collection of worshipers as such so it was not something he paid much attention to as a problem yet.
But a disease?
An unknown--unmarked--disease that affected his people and a disease that he felt himself somehow affected in return (but in an opposite effect) did grab his attention. After all, it was not any sudden knew understanding that the Pantheon’s lives were all somehow much longer and richer than anyone else’s, while the mortal elves underneath began to show signs statistically in their suffering. This was one problem that Solas felt needed to have been brought in awareness.
So, Solas spoke with the other members of the Elvhen Pantheon; the ones who had yet to create anything namely beneficial to the elvhen people that Elgar’nan would have deemed worthy. With their help, he raised an army to take to the Emerald City and there, Solas had finally addressed the issues of the this mysterious disease and its effects with Elgar’nan personally. However, the result had not been in Solas’ favor. He and Elgar’nan ended up arguing, and that argument turned quickly into a battle, and that battle ended with Solas almost being killed by a strongly enchanted artifact of the Gods. Elgar’nan hurled a spear right to Solas’ head, and he would have even died had it not been for Mythal rushing to his rescue and talking Elgar’nan into calming his anger.
So, instead of death being the ultimate punishment for Solas and those who stood by him, Elgar’nan banished him from the Holy Emerald City of Arlathan within Elvhenan-- their home and starting point as Holy Entities. With the exception of the Twentieth Anniversary, was Solas and those who stood by him ever able to return back to the Emerald City just so that Elgar’nan could please his Eternal Wife and All-Mother, Mythal. As such was still an outrage to Solas, and he swore to the heavens that he would find the truth and cure to this disease. He would end the hypocrisy and blasphemy that his own ‘family’ (including himself) had created; because he had finally seen of what torture all of it had turned into for the common folk that he loved. This, of course, meant that in addition to this and for the need of a continued growth to his armies, Solas would need to also put his oath to ending Slavery as well. He would free his people from the very curses that he and the Pantheon had created…
Solas announced his rebellion loudly at public gatherings and village squares masked as a town’s crier. Once he acquired a gathering, he would show the unbelievable strength in his magic by opening portals to other worlds for his people to view and learn of their So-called Gods, and then Solas went a step further with his promises to the people by using his magic to completely remove the vallaslin (blood-writing) that marked an elf as a slave. With this gift, he cleared each soul that he touched from harsh labor, unfair treatment, and prejudistic damnation. Slaves and otherwise mortal elves who felt bound to their Holy Entities in chains turned to him for salvation and freedom; and with this purpose of freedom they sought to rally behind him.
Seeing this army grow as it did angered and frightened most other members of the Elvhen Pantheon. They saw armies beginning to grow rapidly, seeing their servants and loyal worshipers leave them for instead Solas’ favor. Elgar’nan attempted to end this problem quickly by publicly shaming and strike fear in Solas’ name by renaming him as the fearful Fen’Harel (Dread Wolf), and those once Holy Entities that followed him as the Forgotten Ones. The Pantheon tried to teach their elven mortals to be afraid of Fen’Harel, not to listen to anything that he preached or to look upon anything that he would show them. The Pantheon tried to warn the people of how irrational Fen’Harel was, how much of a liar that he was, how he would use their souls against the Holy Pantheon and if they did reach to serve Fen’Harel then there would be no place in the Elvhen Heavens for them. The Pantheon tried to give the same damning speeches in regards to the Forgotten Ones as well, for they had served Fen’Harel from the start and deserved an equal punishment in slander and exile. The Forgotten Ones were wounded from the slander and had little choice but to disperse in their previous gatherings.
However, Fen’Harel (Solas) had not allowed the slander to damage his pride in the least. He in fact, turned the cursed-name against the Pantheon and used his newly given title to create loyalty to his new-found-and-free followers. He also used it to strike fear in his new enemies. For this, Fen’Harel thrived as an untouchable rival against the Pantheon, and more namely against Elgar’nan. From time to time, he would still receive visits from Mythal and/or Sylaise.
So, with his foci in his hands, and a heavy wolf skull to cover his scarred forehead, the Dread Wolf carried his mantle high and with pride. He continued in reaching out to others for his cause, and he awaited the day for when his armies would be strong enough to go to what he believed to be the Final Pantheon War.
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The year was not very important, but on an average assumption it was around 1:20 of the Redemption Age, within the Winter Solstice. It was also the marking of the birthday to Fen’Harel as well as the Twentieth Annual gathering of the Gods to the Emerald City. Naturally, Fen’Harel had to be present. Mythal would not have had it any other way, for she missed her exiled friends and family. In return, Fen’Harel was not that bothered by it. He’d wear the attire of long draped silks and gold plated armor. He’d speak to the staff politely and present a curtly nod when deemed necessary. However, as a noted effort, Fen’Harel tried his best to avoid his adopted “Father” during such events.
Besides, there had been so much fun already to have been had. The Emerald City glittered in all its brilliance just as he first remembered it. The Sentinels were increased in number; each elven soldier had the vallaslin (blood-writing) that marked their face to a service mostly to Elgar-nan or another Pantheon Member. The music that filled the air was soft and melodious. Rodhesils (magical ivory-carved wind instruments) were being blown to the same tune and with it came images pulled from the Fade itself. The images created scenes of when the Gods had blessed the lower mortals with healthy crops and fertile lives. Fen’Harel could smell the luxurious aroma of magic being conjured to suit the bards. Even without them; though, the air was still sweet with wine, honey, steamed vegetables and bread rolls. Any of the kills that Andruil acquired from her hunts were succulent and tender; but this day had been a separate special celebration....
More often than most, Andruil was holding hunting parties for some secret purpose. Fen’Harel had only recently began to uncover some the already tantalizing details and scattered gossip among his estranged brethren. During his current visit back home, Fen’Harel had learned that Sylaise married June, and Andruil was beginning to court a mortal elvhen female noble--which was rather scandalous within the Pantheon, to say the least. Another secret scandal was Dirthamen’s twin brother, Felon’Din, who had been requesting constant and continuous time from Mythal. Within certain rumors that were being protected by Dirthamen, was that Felon’Din was diving into madness from his eager desire to prove his love and devotion to Mythal, and Felon’Din’s only method in doing so was to cause more and greater sacrifices and wars from his own people. It was such news that Fen’Harel simply reveled in, and it gave him a bit of satisfaction that June, Dirthamen, and Felon’Din were finally, finally, ...distracted enough with their own problems that they had to gradually ease up from fighting Fen’Harel as much.
Wars required manpower and resources, after all…
Fen’Harel raised a glass to familiar Forgotten Ones who had been invited to the same gathering. Revassan and Geldauran were standing off to the side. Revassan’s dark beautiful skin stood in stark contrast against Geldauran’s far more fair complexion that together, they stood out amongst the mingling Pantheon’s Members. It was difficult for their sight not to have been avoided. Off to the darker balconies, Sylaise and June were sharing a moment in paradise together by watching what few nobility, that were invited to the gathering, danced below them. Dirthamen was staying close to his twin brother; keeping him from straying off to annoy Mythal. The All-Father, himself, had yet to make an appearance; which had been for the better to Fen’Harel’s interests.
Before Fen’Harel could explore the floor much further, he felt his body suddenly pulled to the dark corners of the large Emerald Palace. At first he had assumed it was a possible informant or maybe even an awe-struck admirer. It was his birth-season, so he’d might not have been one to refuse, if it had been a common woman or nobility striking enough. However, such inquiries were quickly halted when he felt the cold enchanted blue vital dagger that pressed to his throat. His grey eyes peered between the folds of shadow and light to see the person who had managed to capture him so surprisingly, and his smile of intrigue and curiosity slowly crept across his face.
It was lovely Andruil, fierce, forceful and paranoid as ever. She was dressed in the autumn silks and the golden armor of a warrior; which had almost would have made her stand out as well. Except, for Andruil, this sort of tom-boyish attire of hers was quite normal. Her matching hair was cut a bit choppy that maybe it had touched the dull edge of a dagger. Perhaps the very same that was pressed to Fen’Harel’s throat even now.
“La savh na ma. (And a hello to you.)” Fen’Harel finally broke some of that tension; if just to distract her from possibly cutting him-- for he would not put it against her.
“Telahna. (Silence.)” Andruil hissed at him with a glare. “Garas quenathra? (Why are you here?)”
“Andruil,” the oddly given purr in response from the Dread Wolf guided his head to tilt slightly towards the angle of the blade at his neck. “Ara’lin vegara bel’alan’anar, tas ir enaste. Eolasma. La rasama melava ena’las. Nuvenal Mythal itha em. (I return every twentieth year, as I am given my right to. You know this. Plus, it is the time of my birth. Mythal would want to see me.)”
Andruil huffed but didn’t shift in her stance any. “Nuva ma lasa vhallal i vara. (You give your greeting and then leave.)”
“Elvar’nas, thuast i’ve na vasa em adahl tas mar edh’paragirem’len sa anar. (How cold, for someone who tied me to a tree as her personal sexslave for a year.)” He was quick to tease her then.
Her nose crinkled in disgust of him as she retorted, “Tel’lath da’mi inor shol’en mar-- (I have no love for the small blade between your legs--)”
“Tas tel’lath da’mi daremah arainmuin. (As I have no love for the small blade to my throat.)” Fen’Harel finished for her and glanced down back to the blue-vitol’s edge as though to have kept his point of her pointy-end valid. “Telsilal ir sathemah mar palashalan? Ar itha as ema vallaslin. Ha’mi’ni, ar ema tel’esay. (You worry that I will sway your fair maiden from you? From what I had seen, she does not wear the mark of the slaves. So, I have no interest, rest assured.)”
Andruil tucked her blade blade back into its sheath. The dim light clung to her tanned form like a blanket of dark velvet and comfrey. With a high raise of her chin, her glare still pressed down onto Fen’Harel harshly. “Inislea dar’ma. (Inislea is mine.)”
“Inislea asamelin? (Is Inislea her name?)” Fen’Harel grinned again; able to relax now that the blade had left his neck.
“As. Dar. Emma. (She is mine.)” Andruil repeated with a growl looming next to him, which had caused the Dread Wolf to momentarily close his eyes.
“Ma nuvenin. (As you say.)” Fen’Harel answered her and began his turn away. “Sil’dirthemah? Elgar’nan tel’enasta. Nuva is din’sa tuna mar. Sa isa‘hima venuralas. Shathe shiralen. (Might I offer some wisdom? Elgar’nan will still not approve. He may even kill her to punish you. She will need to be immortal… Good luck.)”
“Dahn’direlan. (Idiot.)” Andruil hissed at his backside and slipped further back into the shadows like the huntress that she was.
Fen’Harel had not wanted to stay long, really. He wanted to see the All-Mother, wish her well and show her that his scar had been healing very well with time and appropriate healing magic. Then he wanted to return back to his Land of Outcasts where he could celebrate the season of his birth far more appropriately. His idea of such would involve a tasteful orgy or two, a feast just as satisfying as the Emerald City could provide, and -- of course -- the ultimatum to free slaves of their servitude in exchange of their service to fight for their own freedom. After all, he didn’t completely remove the vallaslin from their faces just from the kindness of his heart. Fen’Harel wanted to see armies flourish and strengthen. While they didn’t have to be specifically under his ruling, they needed to have at least been hungry for Change in their current world and willing to battle even their own Gods for their Freedom. With such a fall, then Fen’Harel could one day learn the truth of everything.
So, turning away from the shadowed balcony, himself, the Dread Wolf began his slow mingling again. His long brown dreadlocks so far had not been damaged by Andruil’s blade; and rested in a half-bun that neatly tucked back to show of his elvhen pride. He glanced around the long banquet table; idly tearing away a chicken leg and unceremoniously gnawed on it without a plate or napkin. Perhaps that had been his small rebellion; and one of many that Fen’Harel may end up showing this night…
accomplished
