User:IceFireWarden/A House Divided II Mundex
In N’urnani’s favorite story, in whose telling and retelling we live, there came to be lands and seas. Sometimes Aryus would interrupt on accident, setting fire to his sister’s props and dolls, but this bothered N’urnani little— allowed her to interpret her own meanings differently and to change outcomes for her older siblings, who often questioned and pondered her gentle words. For at the end of the day a story is just an unsung song, which grows and changes with the heart. Some tunes and melodies morph and differ, but the notes always stay the same.
In the Far West, but not the Farthest West, across the Bitter Sea, rose a strong but simple clan of people known as the Muon’merith in the land of Ta’dastan (a wild and tormented place). While they loved each other, as all families do, they also loved to bicker, as all families do. And although they tried their hardest to stay upon the Righteous Path, they soon fell to the depravations of the Underworld where Laorghatu’s children dwelled. Thus did they cause the Schism of the House that fractured Ta’dastan from one land into many and the Muon’merith from one clan into two.
The weakest but most plentiful chose to be remembered as Clan Muon’kai. They were crude, wild, and often struggled, but made sense of their challenges and labored through, embedding the Gift of Unification into their souls. Yet they chose to heed the words of Seiru’udac, who breathed their failure into permanency, and made them Fools. For who else but a fool would fight for one who never fought for them?
The strongest but smallest chose to be remembered as Clan Mereth instead. They were wise, beautiful, and crafty, and used their long strides to create wonders that lasted longer than their gaits, embedding the Gift of Longevity into their souls. But they heeded the words of Akkrahz, who was mad before mad, and let him kiss their plans and hug their angles, making them likewise Insane. For who else but the demented would chase after perfection, which does not exist?
Eventually, these clans began to split further, as families always do, as the waves rolled past and formed sects that inhabited separate remnants of shattered Ta’dastan. The greatest of these sects was Dwemeth, whose nature was uncertain. They were of Mereth, but they were of Muon’kai, but at the same time they were of none as well. Having inherited the worldliness of N’urnani and the spark of Aryus, the Dwemeth were of their own making, which made them peculiar in their ways and forlorn in their speaking.
Ignoring the constant squabbles of their simple relatives, they chose to wander Ta’dastan—in desperate need for a purpose—until they came across the Cathexis Whelm in the land of Vel’dayn, which rhymed liquid fire and hissed humid words at them as they approached:
“I am the Spoke that Breaks, the Feast that Starves,” yelled the Whelm. “Zziuth’al and Avki’tel cannot smother me, and Aryus will never forget me. From me you shall learn the Truth. If you are foolish, you will listen.”
And to this Dwemeth said: “You speak of Creation as if you Created! Foulest Liar, your knowledge remains unproven but ours does not. You are of the Underworld, a shard of Laorghatu that punctured the world, and to ask anything of you is foolish. What could you teach us, who have learned all of P’hanoikhei’s House?”
“A question not even the gods can answer.”
“Then your Truth is a Lie. You cannot teach questions.”
“Is that so?” the Whelm grinned a terrible grin, which turned the air to ash and cracked the ground, before leaning close to the Dwemeth. “Hear it, then.”
And it whispered the Vile Question, the Forbidden Truth, which drove the Dwemeth to anger. With gears and blade and bolt they pierced the Cathexis Whelm through its head, charging through the mocking bones and laughing muscles until they reach the Heart of its Skull, where they found the Whelm’s jittering parenthood, Akkrahz, birthing demons and spouting sermons. The Dwemeth were mad beyond mad then, and they muzzled Akkrahz with secret songs, and bound him in chains forged from tones, in order to silence his inane mutterings.
But try as they might, the Vile Question remained in their heads. It pounded their brains like rocks against steel, threatening the logic they treasured so keenly. It enticed them with sickness, betrayal, and bliss that reeked of ignorance. It was then that the Dwemeth king, Du’umalk, turned to his people and spoke grave words that brought their Doom:
“The Vile Question must be answered by one form or another. Go if you must. Stay if you must. But nevermore will Dwemeth be whole until we find what we seek. We must undo this wrong-thinking.”
Their purpose discovered at a grave cost, Dwemeth fractured once more and scattered to the winds. Some went north, others west. But one went east, Far East, across the Demon’s Sea. They called themselves Noraken, named so by the mightiest of their thinkers that went with them, Gtharun of M’ezzalfth, and fled from the mutterings of Akkrahz (for Gtharun knew that Vel’dayn was forever tainted, and staying there would only hatch more fallacies in his thoughts). Descending from the sky in the eastern pages, where the songs of N’urnani soothed drakes with memory, they made of the land that would become our home a workshop of wonderment.
But even as they toiled in the caverns, searching for the Infinite Paradigm, the voice of Akkrahz crept upwards from the Under into the Depths and tried to move them from the Righteous Path. The gloom-drums, the screeching of tormented sirens, started to wear down the hearts of Noraken. So Gtharun made weapons out of simple creatures, using lyrics extracted from the Auribex in order to manifest living music that could scream at homunculus time, which could drown out the shouts of the Father of Demons. Enhancing their bodies, as well as their natural tones, these small creatures of the night steadily transformed into the first Watchers of the Underworld, and Defenders of the Song.
They created our ancestors. Sect Ekmeth, Inheritors of Dwemeth! Who would, and still do, protect the memories of Mundex from the Too-Deep’s vile obscenities with flowing rhyme, vengeful flame, and purest salt.
However, even our ancestors could not forestall the Danger-In-Knowing that had been consuming the Dwemeth for far too long. In the West, the Vel’dayn Dwemeth had unknowingly entered a state of wrong-thinking. They assumed that, in order to learn the Heretical Answer, they would have to find P’hanoikhei in the Special Place Beyond the Aurbis and have words. To do so, they coated evil Akkrahz with mail of brass and fair, creating the skeletal Zaer’roh—a nightmarish totem-god forged in the Maw of the Underworld. With its power, they might have met with P’hanoikhei and attained the Forbidden Truth.
But then from Beyond Vel’dayn came Sect Chimeth, who worshipped wraiths and were villainous in their ways, but heroes in this moment, as they had learned the plans of Du’umalk and his Kah’enaku and come to stop them. With them they brought others of Mereth, and Muon’kai, and even those of a different sort, who clashed with the Vel’dayn Dwemeth before the dead-grin of the Cathexis Whelm. It was only until Shakht and its odd-twin Prakhr came that Dwemeth found itself defeated, broken, and at the point of collapse.
“Stupid Dwemeth!” jeered the Chimeth. “You have become even more malicious than us! Either cease your quest for the Forbidden Truth, or discover the answer is death.”
“What makes you believe there is logic in death?” the Kah’enaku questioned, which frightened the Chimeth armies into stopping their advance and allowed him to use his mighty power to awaken Zaer’roh, who fractured the Mundex into pieces for the longest of moments. But Zaer’roh’s power was too great and Akkrahz’s anger too much even for the Dwemeth to calculate. When the Moment ended, Akkrahz had slithered back down to the Underworld. Zaer’roh laid asleep, shattered, and bleeding. And Dwemeth, in its entirety across all directions, was gone. Naught was left but ash, ash that cursed the Chimeth’s skin with that last riddle of death, turning them into the Dunmeth for the rest of time.
Ta’dastan returned to its infighting, as if nothing happened. But us? We lived, and we learned, and we grew. Without the Noraken, we knew what to do. Gods came and went, but we had learned that the greatest faith was found within ourselves, and pledged ourselves to none. Ekmeth must continue to protect N’urnani’s story, her song, until it reaches its final stanza. Long enough for even the Dwemeth to return for their ashes, whether it be by our hands, or their own.
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