A familiar troupe of men and women entered the empty area between the Tiarna’s table and the rest of the Great Hall. The final event before the Bloodstone Ceremony was the retelling of the Origins.
The actors donned black tunics and paced around their impromptu stage. One man stood in the center of the moving troupe. Dancers swirled around him, bowing low and rising on the tips of their toes to create roiling movement around him. Their arms flowed above their heads and dropped at their sides. This man would be the narrator of this tale. His deep voice spoke with authority and his voice carried throughout the room.
“Before there was all, there was nothing,” the narrator began.
The all too familiar and famous opening echoed through the hall. As soon as one learned to speak, they knew these words.
”An all-encompassing nothing that spread for as far as one could travel.”
The troupe held up black cloth and waved them overhead. The lights around them flickered with the movements of air.
“But it was not uninhabited. For there existed a creature in the higher planes that had no name. It could not see, it could not hear, and it could not feel. It is uncertain if this creature could even think. But this creature was lonely; an abandoned entity in a sea of black. It wished more than anything to be seen, to be comprehended. But the nothingness offered nothing. In that grief, the creature slumbered and dreamed of something better. The creature silently wept from eyeless sockets and in those tears were the creature’s hopes.”
Valentin watched the troupe hold up blue cushions and scraps of cloth to signify the tears before they tumbled down to the floor. He always felt bad for this creature. It wished for companionship and dreamed of a friend that did not exist. And it would not wake up to see what those wishes would create. To desire something so ardently and never see it was a tragedy too great to consider.
A low humming came from deep within the performers and the narrator continued.
“These tears contained tremendous amounts of energy that sparked and leapt from the water. That energy began to condense and bond together.”
The humming grew louder and some began a chant. One of the performers rubbed his hand vigorously on a piece of fabric. Small arcs and sparks escaped from the fabric as he infused trace amounts of favor into it.
“It bonded more and more.”
The performers stomped. Some beat upon drums in a feverish staccato. The crowd chanted with the performers, Valentin included. They all knew who would appear next and the knowing made for even more enthusiastic gestures and shouts from the audience.
“The one, the all. The one, the all. The one, the all. The one, the all. The one, the all.”
The narrator encouraged the crowd to chant and the performers stomped harder and beat their drums louder. The audience of the Great Hall was nearing a fevered pitch. Once the narrator felt that the energy within couldn’t grow greater, he acted.
“And in that immense ball of energy, something incredible sprung forward! The Dream! The Beginning! The Great Spirit!” The man that had been rubbing the piece of fabric snapped his fingers and a small thunderbolt exploded into the room. The statue of Ogaro was bathed in a brilliant light before it dimmed again.
The crowd erupted in jubilation. The screams and shouts drowned out the performance and pierced Valentin’s ears. In fairness, he was one of the voices shouting for the Great Spirit. Enthusiasm welled inside him and he did not know where to direct this geyser of excitement. He stomped his feet, he pounded his fists against the bench, and he called out. It was barely good enough to release that excess in emotions. He felt liberated in his outburst as he knew that nobody, not even his father, could prevent him from his display of emotion. That is because at the forefront of the Great Hall, garbed in all the niceties of the world, was Tiarna Lunoult, hollering as loud as any in the room. And who would dare do something as uncouth and heretical as rebuking a boy celebrating the creator of all?
“The Great Spirit is a being without a defined form and it spreads its energy from the high plane to the lower planes. Where the energy lands, life emerges. All manner of plant and animal that we know were brought forth by the Great Spirit. Larger concentrations of energy would form more fantastic forms of life. Ortus, the Great Flame, brought light to the creations. Verani, the Flowing, brought water that sustained their life. Petrava, the Sturdy, provided a place for the creations to live upon. These were not the only ones that assisted in creating a place for all life to exist upon, but they were the most instrumental. All gifts from the Great Spirit.
This life that walked the earth or grew upon it lived freely and without edict from the Great Spirit. The entity was the manifestation of the creature's dream and only existed to grow life indiscriminately. Life would be born, grow old, and die under the view of the Great Spirit. The energy within this life would be returned to the Great Spirit who would bring new life upon the lower planes.”
The troupe now wore all different colors and furs and walked on all fours or hunched over. The performers moved chaotically around the narrator. Some acting as predators pounced on prey and took a tumble on the floor before suddenly stopping. They all looked up at the narrator.
“But these were not the only things that came from the Great Spirit. Countless lesser spirits roamed the lands and affected them in their own unique ways. They would bless creatures and live within them. The most powerful of these spirits were able to manipulate the life that they inhabited and transformed their flesh into something new.”
The troupe donned masks that loosely resembled various animals and walked stiltedly on two feet. Their unnatural and wobbly movements brought discomfort to the audience. While these spirits represented some of the greatest achievement of their beloved Great Spirit, they also heralded an unfortunate future.
“These spirits walked the lands, flew the skies, and swam the waters of the lower planes. They interacted with one another with a speech that we could never comprehend. They were imbued with the wishes of the original creature and, in an ironic turn, felt lonely in their abundant surroundings. They had grown beyond the life around them and felt that the life they cohabited this plane with were not good enough to satisfy the wishes from which they were born.
These spirits tried to make life for themselves. They were creations of the Great Spirit and they believed that they would possess the same powers. Animals bred, plants spread their seeds, so why could they not make something? As such, they tirelessly spent endless cycles watching life to understand it and then experimented to create their own.”
A troupe member was covered in cloth and the rest surrounded the obscured person. They waved their hands and danced around, strange guttural noises escaped their throats.
“These efforts were not in vain,” the narrator proclaimed. “After tirelessly trying, a spirit named Ato created life.”
A hand, covered in cloth and furs sprung from the pile in the middle of the performers. The audience gasped. Some called for the arm to be shoved back into the pile, eliciting some chuckling from those in earshot. For most, however, this arm heralded an uneasy feeling within them; an inherited fear from their ancestors.
“The other high spirits congratulated Ato, and called him a creator, a God. This new life was in no way like its brethren. It stood upon two legs instead of four, it built tools to help it survive, and it was capable of a higher level of thought.”
The creature pranced in solitude, the lone pinnacle of animals. The dancers that pretended to be animals hopelessly fell to their knees as the newest creation moved unimpeded across the floor. The performer’s wide, flowing movement atop the balls of their feet showcased the arrogance inherent in the earliest unmatched creation.
“But, it was not human,” the narrator announced. The performer stood up and their face was obscured by the cloth. A deeper unsettled feeling had permeated the Great Hall.
“Upon this discovery, the other spirits rushed to create their own versions of this life. They used the designs of Ato and made their own adjustments.”
One after another, the performers dropped to the ground and arose with covered faces to dance alongside the first creation. Now an entire troupe of strange-faced dancers pranced about the center of the hall.
“These new creatures worshiped these spirits above the Great Spirit and these powerful spirits became the Pantheon of Novesse and these new creations were the tribes of Novesse,” the narrator explained, his face darkened and a scowl crossed his lips. “But, as you know, we have a different name for these tribes. I struggle to believe that we are forced to consider them as kin.”
The dancers that represented these new creations began to quarrel with each other. They swung punches to each other, pretended to stab one another, and tackled each other to the ground. Negative emotions swirled through the Great Hall and Valentin felt a pain in his heart. The air itself was oppressive as if he were trying to breathe water.
“Not every one of these Gods of Novesse had made life yet and the ones who had were not keen on allowing more of these species to enter the world. For they learned something too late. These tribes of Novesse were hostile towards each other. Each creation would struggle for supremacy over the rest in order to elevate their creator to the top of the Pantheon. Those that had already created were intoxicated with the idea of worship and proof that what they had made was the best. The gods provided their creations with spiritual powers in hopes that it would give them an edge over their rivals. These creator gods did not want new rivals. They imposed significant restrictions on the creation of new Novesse tribes and rejected the efforts of those that tried to follow in their footsteps.”
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A female performer dressed in white with her face covered became the new center of attention. Some of the audience called in anguish towards the woman. Many reached their arms out towards her in vain. One of the women seated near Valentin stared forlornly at the sky, unable to watch further.
“There was one such god that had yet to create life. She was horrified by the actions of her fellow gods and the savagery of their creations and worked to create her own life without needing permission from the rest of the Novesse Pantheon. She decided to go directly to the source of all things. The Great Spirit.”
The performers swirled and chanted around the woman in white. “This god approached the Great Spirit and begged it for help creating life for there was no entity in all the planes that surpassed the Great Spirit.”
“Oh spirit that became all! I implore you, help me make life that will show all the others the errors of their ways. Help me make life that is true to your essence and the dreams of the sleeping one!” The woman in white shouted, the first to speak other than the narrator.
The swirling stopped and a stillness dominated the floor. The performers froze into whatever pose they were in when the woman ceased speaking. One was in mid punch. Another raised their arms over their head as though they were about to pounce. Others still, lied defeated upon the ground. They curled up to protect their organs from damage or twisted into strange angles to avoid the attacks. Their eyes closed and their bodies contorted into odd angles, a peacefulness exuded from the performers.
“The Great Spirit heard the begging of the god and provided her with the energy required to make her dream come true,” the narrator spoke as his voice returned to the forefront.
The woman was given a lantern and she held up the flame above her head for the audience to see. Within it represented a great love.
“But within that energy came a wordless condition from the Great Spirit: what is given must be returned. The life that was created by the Pantheon was growing further and further away from the Great Spirit. The life that was given freely was being sullied and held in covetous hands. And so, the god worked on her new life. One that would live and die under the watch of the Great Spirit. Under the careful and loving hand of the god and the pure energy gifted from the Great Spirit, humanity was born.”
Unnoticed by the crowd, a small boy had hurriedly made his way to the performers. The woman in white handed the lantern to another performer and lifted the boy.
“Unfortunately for this god and for her creation. It was not kept a secret for long,” the narrator announced solemnly. The boy was placed back upon the ground and he scurried off as the performers danced and chanted angrily around the woman in white. “The other gods were enraged that their orders had been broken. They tried to destroy the creation but were unable to. This creation was protected by the Great Spirit. So the Pantheon of the Gods quickly devised another way to punish this creator and their creation.”
A man clad in black strode with purpose towards the center of the room. The audience screamed and hurled insults at him. Some even threw loaves of bread and produce at the man. The food bounced futilely, harmlessly off of the man’s body. They hated this new arrival with every fiber of their being.
“If they could not destroy the creation,” the narrator explained while a blade was unsheathed by the man in black and held menacingly above the head of the woman in white. “Then they would destroy the creator and all memory of her existence.”
The blade swung down. Red fabric was thrown in the air.
“Mother!” The performers wailed. Tears streamed down their faces. Rage possessed the narrator and boos echoed throughout the Great Hall. Valentin could not help but ball his fists in solidarity.
“And so we were orphaned. No mother, no powers, and without teaching. Humanity ran away from the lands of the Pantheon and to untamed wilds. In several great migrations, we navigated harsh deserts and violent seas to reach these lands. They had to learn how to live on their own. Humanity was left with two gifts: the bestial instincts of the Great Spirit and the idea to burn the dead and return trapped spirits back to the higher planes. In these wild lands, humanity lived alone. However, that isolation was not meant to last.”
The performers once against swirled around the narrator. They screeched and hopped and ran after their invisible quarry.
“While the gods themselves could not remove us from existence, their creations could inflict punishment upon us,” the narrator explained. Some of the performers donned shackles and were led around by others that were clad in furs and obscured faces. “Enslaved and used to fight proxy wars on behalf of the other Novesse tribes, humanity faced humiliation at the hands of those they should have called brothers. To make things worse, under the direction of the Novesse Pantheon, humanity was slowly made to forget their origins and a new history was placed upon them instead. And with that, the name of our mother was lost forever.”
Sadness. A deep and profound sense of loss filled the room. A loss for something that they could not understand or articulate. And beneath that sadness simmered rage at the injustice and a desire for retribution.
“For countless cycles humanity suffered beneath the Novesse tribes. But humanity no longer were allowed to consider them our fellow creation and therefore we needed a new name for them. A simple substitution, Oppressors. Those that we were told we were created to be subservient to. To live and breed and die under the directive of callous tyrants. Though it would last no longer.”
A man dressed in feathers appeared and the crowd cheered. The namesake of the celebration arrived to chase away the malaise that hung in the air. His jubilant hops and skips to mimic flight brought feelings of hope.
“A god that had no creations of his own took pity on the humans that suffered through no fault of their own. Did he feel some kindred connection to their long dead creator that wished for nothing more than to have their creation? Did he have a vendetta against the rest of the Pantheon? Who’s to say? One day, this god descended to the realm of humanity and introduced himself as-”
“Killik!” The audience shouted.
The narrator did not begrudge the interjection from the audience. Instead, he smiled with great joy at the interruption. To do anything less would border upon sacrilege.
“Killik! He told every human that he met the truth. About our creation, the Great Spirit, the vengeful gods, and, most importantly, our mother. He told us how to activate the powers dormant deep inside us. In return, we called him our agriculture god and gave him a place to call his own.”
“Spill your blood upon your crops after planting them and then eat what grows. You will become strong this way,” Killik’s performer spoke to the performers who had all kneeled before him in respect.
“Humanity heeded Killik’s words and news spread to all the clans. Sometimes verbally through merchants or travelers, sometimes in written notes between learned men, and sometimes between opposing armies on a cruel battlefield. Regardless of the method, word had spread and the seeds of harvest were cultivated with blood. When humanity ate that first bloodied harvest, they awoke to powers.
News spread more rapidly. Even the most ardent skeptics could not deny the show of awakened powers when displayed. However, they still had to keep this news as a guarded secret and endure the suffering a little longer. They were still not strong enough to turn the tables against their overlords and any word of a growing strength would be the doom of them all. Worst still, there were humans still believing in their subservience to the Oppressors and reveled in their privileged position,” the narrator spat in venomous disgust and wiped his mouth.
“However, it was difficult to suppress the tension. Humanity had seen the truth. They were equal to all other tribes and were made to suffer. Their enslavement was unjust. Their mistreatment was unjust. Their history was unjust.”
The narrator gained a vitriolic tone, his words now dripped with hate and poisoned the rest of the audience, Valentin included. He asked the audience a series of rhetorical questions.
“How much longer were they made to suffer beneath the boots of these tyrants? When would they be ready to attack? How could they be expected to live with the creations of the ones that murdered our mother? The ones that removed her name from our minds, never to be returned! They needed to suffer. They needed to pay. This was not to be some petty blood feud, not some emergence to the great stage of wars for supremacy. This had to be a complete revenge, devoid of any ideas of retaliation from these hideous overlords. Humanity had to rip these affronts to the Great Spirit out by root and stem and stamp out the flames of life in front of their horrified creators. But who would decide that it was time? Who would deliver upon us the first blow to signal the waves of change? Who would it be to answer the call of justice?”
The performers stomped as they danced. A low chant emanated from the mouths of the performers like a low rumble. “Ogaro. Ogaro. Ogaro. Ogaro.” The drums beat away an angry pattern and the rest of the Great Hall joined. “Ogaro! Ogaro! Ogaro! Ogaro!”
Eyes quickly turned towards the wooden carving that stood valiantly behind Tiarna Lunoult. The Tiarna moved for his seat to allow the recreation of the hero to receive all of the adulation, even if the stern faced warrior could not grin at the cheering.
“Ogaro the Stormbringer! Tyrant-killer! Sorrow of the Pantheon of Novesse! It was his brave and decisive actions that sparked the flame that would burn the world down! The source of courage of any man, powerful or weak, to raise their fist and beat their masters to death. Once these flames started, they would not subside until the revenge was finished and there was not an Oppressor heartbeat to be heard.
The Oppressors were forced to flee these lands. They ran to the deserts, swam across the seas, and hid in the massive impassible spirit jungle, Daran Teluan, far to the east. Without any ability to interfere, the Novesse Gods had no choice but to watch countless cycles of their work be destroyed by the creation that they hated most. Our only regret was that we went beyond Killik’s expectations. He did not wish for annihilation, just for humanity to be able to exist along the rest. When the Novesse Gods moved their Pantheon to faraway lands, Killik went with them.”
The man dressed in feathers removed his garb. The sole somber moment within the exuberance of the Uprising. Silence befell the Great Hall.
“From that day on, we have continued to follow Killik’s instruction and have kept ourselves powerful to protect these lands and deter others from attempting the foolishness that destroyed the Novesse tribes. But we had made a discovery of our own!”
Druid Relfon made his way to stand beside the narrator and held up the covered Bloodstone for all to see.
“This Bloodstone has the ability to react to the power that resides in all of us. In turn, that allows us to identify favored individuals and can teach them early to harness their power and protect all of us. Thank you Killik! Thank you Mother! Thank you Great Spirit!”
The Great Hall burst into applause upon the completion of the performance. The troupe deeply bowed in appreciation of the warm receival. Tiarna Lunoult stood in applause and the rest of his table scrambled to join him.
Valentin applauded loudly at the excellent performance. He wondered what Euna would think of the display.
He looked to his side to see if everyone in his family enjoyed the performance as much as he had. While his parents clapped strongly along with the other guests, two of the seats at the table sat unoccupied. It seemed that at some point during the presentation, Jeanne and Vincent had departed the Great Hall. His father was expressionless in his applause but his mother constantly made furtive glances towards the empty seats.
Tiarna Lunoult did not move to silence the applause, even when it had gone beyond typical decorum. Instead, he clapped heartily with them until it subsided on its own.
“It is important to never forget what we have overcome,” Tiarna Lunoult asserted. “Now, it is time for the final part of Killicia, the Bloodstone Ceremony. I ask for everyone to leave save for the participating children and their families. Please let the awaiting families inside once everyone has departed.”
Those that were not meant to be present for the Bloodstone Ceremony rose from their seats and joined the procession from the Great Hall. Gilles rose from his seat and clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“I’ll be praying for you,” Gilles said with an encouraging smile.
“Are you not staying, Uncle Gilles?” Valentin asked. He made a disappointed face and looked away.
“I don’t count as close enough family to remain. I’ll go look around the area for Jeanne while I’m at it. Just know that I’m nearby and I’m rooting for you.”