Tales from Eleth
Story 1: The Calamity Wrought by Stars
In a distant corner of the pearl-glittering starlit clusters of the Eagle Nebula, the Creator once decided to weave forth a planet from the most colourful, wistful threads of Their pulsating imagination. Its creation happened in the backyard of a young, sleepy, blue star called Asteria, and after many excruciating explosions, meteorically precise bombardments, and serendipitous droplets of miracle-making, it had finally come to be: a small, slightly flattened spherical mundus. The creator looked at it, curved his lips in a wry smile, and christened it with a giggle: “It shall be known to all as Eleth”.
Eleth’s inhabitants, made in the image of the One who created them, were fickle yet extremely creative beings called Finme. In many ways they resembled normal humans: two arms, two legs, two eyes, variable lengths, heights, colours, hairstyles and loves. But a most striking difference was present within them – and that was the capability of weaving thought into matter through a mysterious, almost magical power known as Sou. If you asked anybody in that world, they wouldn’t be quite able to explain to you how exactly they were able to pull off these imaginative tricks; all they knew was that, if they thought long and hard enough about something, it would, most likely, happen.
For quite a few millennia, Eleth kept spinning without a single drop of conflict: illuminated by the lethargically bright rays of their mother Star, the Finme created fantastical things from their powers, and living in harmony, were able to sustain that peace through the eons.
Until one day, their Creator’s judgement befell upon them.
Seeing as their Sou was growing rapidly and potentially out of bound, They unleashed a power so wicked, few could believe that was the work of their once gentle progenitor. A dark mist enveloped the atmosphere, and the Finme quickly started to be affected by it, losing their strength and their minds alike. They became ominous, monstrous creatures that could devour the souls and the imagination of all around them: these beings were named Revels, and all they touched succumbed to a cold, spiritless withering.
However, a few of them were able to use their Sou to repel the mist, and came together in an attempt to fend off the Revels: they were known as the Lunatics. 50 of them, especially avid users and shapers of imagination, formed an army to fight off the Revels and the mist: this valiant battalion was known as the Fifty Great. After a grueling battle that lasted 3 gigaseconds, they were finally able to quell the rage of the Creator, whose soul was scattered in the Cosmos, and fell upon Elethas a brilliant shower of shooting stars. This resolution, unfortunately, came with a price: the planet was all but destroyed, reduced to a black sea of nothingness, slathered here and there with tiny specks of land that could barely sustain themselves in that murky obscurity. There was no place to live properly like before, the Revels still trampled in the shadows, and the Fifty Great that sealed that wicked power had suddenly disappeared. Few were the Lunatics who survived the conflict, and for millennia after millennia, they lived a life of isolation, with but one certainty: soon their world would end.
Except… it didn’t. At least not in the way they had once expected it to.
With the Creator gone and Eleth reduced to a barren darkness, rogue Star Children that traveled the constellations in search of planets whereupon to leave their echoes stumbled upon the dying world. Gazing upon the void, five of them were drawn to its eerie energies, and made life anew in that place.
Gertrude, the Lamenting, shed tears for the tragedy that befell the planet, and they became the oceans which broke through the darkness and drowned the Revels of the world who couldn’t fight the tides. The souls of the forsaken Revels became stars in the ocean’s bed, which rose to the surface and became the Gertrudian Merfolk, masters of the seas, whose songs lulled their Goddess into eternal slumber, lest doom came to their shores.
Xipheor, the Belligerent, spread his fiery wings high, and ignited the atmosphere with a renewed layer of airborne elements, choking the Revels who couldn’t draw breath in the rarefied environment. From the brandishing of his blade, Faebol, he set fire to the rigid darkness, and the lifeless bodies of the Revels melted within its sky-piercing carcasses, giving birth to the tall Almeddians, scions of the mountains and the burning wastelands.
Yulyanis, the Benevolent, bore a seed from her core, and let it spread through the air, impaling the hearts of the Revels who were trapped in the steel-like vines that sprouted from the seed. The vines grew into seven enormous trees, around whoch seven lush and verdant islets formed, suspended in mid-air by their unshakeable roots. The blood of the pierced Revels nourished the new-formed land, and from its bosom took flight the Valoyan Fey, their radiant wings forevermore guardians of their Matron’s secrets.
Ganymos, the Unrelenting, crashed down into the Far Sea, bludgeoning the Revels that stood in this path with a force insurmountable. Vaporizing the waters and shattering all land below, his crater was swept by sand, forming an endless, golden desert. The warped remains of the Revels erased by his fury swirled below the towering dunes, forging the flesh and horns of the Ganymosian men and women, whose whispered verses filled the air with undying magics.
Finally, Sulphur, the Sage, did not descend upon the world; instead, forsaking a strand of his hair upon the White Sea, his unsurmountable sagacity transmuted the waters, which boiled and frothed into a pool of quicksilver. The sweltering metal intoxicated and consumed every Revel caught in its tides, and their broken sighs made solid the strand, a chrysalis from which emerged Galhim, the primordial, who breathed human life upon the now bejeweled husk of his cocoon, bringing to life the Sulphurian Golems, harbingers of the end and detainers of the Truth.
After springing back to life as if in an instant through the wills of these star children, it had seemed that Eleth had yet again a glimmer of hope, as its now diverse inhabitants mingled and expanded their dominion throughout the planet. However, where there dwells the smallest speck reminiscent of human nature, there ought to be erring and strife. And so, countries have risen and fallen, generations come and gone with the wars, and yet again does Eleth face an era of darkness, surrounded by a spiral of clashing cultures and seemingly undying discord.
Yet just as humanity can never forget its spirit of conflict, so can never a Creator forget the caprice of its creations. When the harbingers of destruction are to once more befall this planet, so shall that which was forgotten be liberated from the thralls of forsaken destiny.
Until then, its angel shall sing of the flames of war, the balance of life and, in hope of ever finding respite, of peace… be such a thing the respite after the long storm, or an unreachable, crumbling dream.
Story 2: ???