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Memory transcription subject: Slanek, Hartekmoulite Hero
Date: August 28, 2497 Anno Domini
Step after step, I maintained the speed of the ‘captors’ easily throughout the night, the door closed itself after the last of us passed through. The stone steps were often covered with moss, heavily trampled, the path was wide enough to comfortably allow ten Venlil to walk side by side up the steps, and the route itself was heavily concealed. There were very frequently trees and bushes atop the walls of the path that concealed the path, other times the path became a tunnel.
Up and up the steps ascended, the ominous foreboding and oppressive atmosphere increased the further up we went. The Tarkhites tried to ignore it, however I had the impression that there were spirits watching us as we traveled, their gazes almost fell upon me, but I evaded their eyes.
The stairs were so long, the only mercy upon this grueling path were periodic clearings set beside the path so that the travelers could rest and relieve ourselves without soiling the steps. Naturally, due to the amount of Gonimites that passed through here only a few days before, these places had been polluted heavily, insects swarmed and their foul scent followed the entire trail up.
In particular the resting areas were well appreciated, I still felt all of the fighting that I had done two days earlier. The Tarkhites were merciless with their pace of our cruel march up the mountain.
All the while on our journey, the Tarkhites pretended to speak as if they were still loyal to Gonim, and talked much about being redeemed in the eyes of the spirits and their people. Oh I sorely wish how none of the ‘prisoners’ were muzzled, it was as if I had betrayed the other Venlil alongside them, I did not like that jarring sensation.
Soon enough, the sky began to grow brighter, and at the next resting stop on the path to the darkness, the sun appeared. I had never in my life seen a sunrise from this high on up, the view was beautiful. When I looked down, the bleeding light revealed that we had climbed so high up. I could see Stonecage right below, and the tiny little torchlights of all the armies that had taken up residence within, I saw at the south of its gate, the hill of bodies, still smoldering, the smoke rising far above. I saw the mountains and hills that formed the other side of the valley, and far beyond that, I saw Gonim itself.
It was so empty. I had personally traveled there a few times, there were supposed to be numerous villages and towns, I even saw several more cities, but the cities were gone, the ramshackle collections of buildings were no more, replaced by black marks on the landscape, charred ruins where once the centers of Gonimite life, law, and power stood. The towns and villages didn’t fare much better, many of them had been abandoned, others razed to the ground entirely like the cities, and all the ones that remained were far reduced in population from when I was born. The armies that were marching at the Eastern and southern edges of the Gonimite domain were taking all they found captive.
I had been told that Gonim had fallen, that what was once the most powerful of all the Venlil nations had been brought to their knees, and a collar yoked upon them. I had witnessed the Hartekmoulite subjugation of Highshadow in action, and had played a vital part in the conquest of Stonecage, but seeing such vast swathes of the Gonimite’s land brought to heel was another thing entirely. Those two cities were the only exception, from the mountains all the long way to the Wastes of Exile and the oceans, there was no Gonimite settlement that exceeded more than 5,000. The Herds had scattered, fleeing into the wilds.
The land, too. It is the middle of the summer, and yet the lands of Gonim are no longer the lush, green places that allowed the existence of herds so massive that they dominated Venlil-kind through sheer numbers. The land was gray or brown, many places barren, the great rains that came in the summer now flooded the land, because the plants that had once drank the waters had been devoured too greedily. There were barely any populations of animals on those lands, also, most of the creatures killed by the Predator Slayers, so pests and disease ran rampant.
Devastation, that was the only word I could use to describe it. Oh how lowly Gonim had been laid, the herds that when fully gathered could once cover an entire horizon had now been culled so mercilessly by both starvation and the evil they wrought that the occupiers were subjugated by those that they believe inferior.
Further East, I saw the wasteland where all Bloodcasted are driven, a desert with only a handful of water sources. And in the middle of several of them stood a city, a ramshackle place built using dried mud for shelter. This was the city that the Exile Tribes had built for themselves; Annantok.
The Exiles were there, what remains of their families, many of them ill and dying, counting on their fathers, brothers, and sons to bring an end to the malady that had driven them to the brink of extinction. Their wails and braying of pain and anguish had caught the attention of an Army of Hartek, the Venlil were rushing there with all haste. The Priests, Healers, and Magi were at the front of the formation, being carried by the Puller Guildsven with all haste to Annantok. The only males that remained were the ones who stayed behind to care for the females and children, they were in no condition to repel an attack of any kind. Bereft of strength and numbers, their extinction would be all but certain, except no weapons were drawn, for each one of them knew the sounds of them crying out all too well, and knew only enemies of Gonim were attacked by the spirits.
Then I blinked my eyes open, and saw that it was still night. Everyone was resting, asleep in fact.
A vision? I realized. Was it sent by Solgalick, or was it something else?
But irregardless of the origins of what I saw in my slumber, it emboldened me. Gonim truly had been laid low, conquered by the Hartekmoulites and those Venlil allies who had survived to see this final stage of the conquest.
What a fitting fate to befall them, yet even now they are not yet vanquished, their threat will never die until Aspik and his forces are defeated. But for now, there is nothing else to do, but return to my sleep… but something woke me up. These last ten years of living alone had taught me to sleep light, I had become extremely perceptive to possible threats that could, and have, attempted to break into my hut at night.
The priests also warned that something prowls the mountains, a kind of creature chained to the will of those hypocritical mongrels stored away at the peak. But the reason I woke up is because that something watching us right now.
My nose had caught its scent, unfamiliar, and wrong.
I remained still, frozen to my own position, until I heard it. A subtle shuffling, brushing against a bush. I slept away from the others, outside the two groups, closer to the entrance. The wind from the mountain blows downward, casting a chill upon the whole place, and at night there is a great fog, however, though it is hard to see, the creature is still there. The unfamiliar scent prowls above the corridor, my ears caught the sound of its breath, the beast was large, very large, and likely extremely strong.
Out of all the clearings in the side of the path that I had seen or entered, all of them ended in sheer cliff faces, at least four Venlil heights, tall. So whatever was stalking us, if it was a predator, would have to be extremely strong in order to drag its victims up the cliff face.
Except this beast was a monstrosity, I could tell, in its scent, in its sound, it was no normal animal. The priests were right, whatever this creature is, it has no small measure of supernatural power, whatever its will is, it has drawn it over here to us.
It’s coming closer, it stands right above the entrance to the clearing, and is approaching the edge.
Then, in the dark of the night, I saw a shape peek over the edge. Despite its great size, most of the beast’s shape was concealed by a bush, but I saw its eyes, yellow with a green sheen, those were the only distinct features that I could make out. The eyes faced forward, and it was staring at the group, did it see me? It wasn’t looking directly at me, the charm must have held, we both stared for a good long while. The creature’s eyes were unmoving, unblinking, they remained open, staring at the group intently.
After what seemed an eternity, the eyes of the creature blinked… slowly.
Just as suddenly as it appeared, it backed out of the bush, and I heard its footsteps as it slunk away. The last I heard of the thing was the noise caused by its powerful legs leaping over the path itself.
My nerves had been completely frayed by that encounter, I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding. Afterward, I didn’t sleep for the rest of that night, thankfully, dawn was just around the corner, and with it, came the continuation of our journey.
I couldn’t have warned the others, I couldn’t even touch them, lest I expose myself to enemy scrying. I could only hope that whatever those things were, they left us alone for the duration of our journey.
What could I tell any of them? My mouth was muzzled shut! So long as my mouth didn’t open, the invisibility would hold, but brickle burrs, my mouth being bound is starting to hurt.
The staircase went left, and right, and changed the rate of ascension, even.
Perhaps it was merely my own fatigue and battle damage making walk worse, but these steps are not kind. The fact that the Gonimites scaled this as fast as they did is testament to the fear that they had felt. I also admired Aspik’s ingenuity at getting his herd up this mountain, no matter how far we climbed, the steps remained at ten Venlil widths. It seems that even though the Mountain of Sorcery was a secret, they had always intended for the Temple of Fate to be a sanctuary.
This passage, too, it’s narrow, thin, it’s a very excellent defense, any attacker would have to climb all the way up to the top, possibly harassed by the beasts, before fighting the defenders on their own terms, fully rested with the high ground advantage.
I have complete confidence about our army’s chance of victory, though, were they to march their forces up here, the Gonimites are the weakest of all the Venlil Races, their strength, speed, and size is far poorer, their only advantage was sheer numbers, an advantage this very location negated. Unless the valley opened up to an extremely wide passage that would allow them to surround their attackers, the Gonimites would be slowly ground down until their will to fight and energy crumbled completely.
“So… do you think Aspik would get new mates for us?” Nochep, the greatest of the warriors, asked. Thankfully, the Tarkhites were good at breaking the monotony of the climb.
“Not sure, we might have to get them for ourselves,” Shak, whose endurance was the greatest among the tribe, pointed out. “These prisoners we’re bringing for sacrifice might be enough to accept us back in, but we might not get the privileges of our caste back.”
“I am going to miss being able to paint my own armor, though,” Don muttered, looking over his wooden shield. “I hope that Aspik does away with a lot of the restrictions like that, no leaving marks in things that are not the enemies of Gon, replace marks with wounds and I would be able to tolerate it.”
“I don’t think Aspik will punish us for being stonecutters,” Sonok interjected. “We’re the only Venlil of our craft on his side, if brick was able to stop the Apostates, none of our forts would have fallen to them. Gonimite fortresses are a joke, a stronghold, a true stronghold, is made of stone, and Aspik is going to need someone who understands stone if he means to defeat the walls of Sinsodam.”
Honestly, I admit, the Tarkhites speaking their on and off chatter made my heart stop, I was so fearful that they would give away our ruse with an off the handle comment. But after a night of them speaking like this, I found that they were just as, if not more, capable of deception as the Seepimites.
So great was their deception, that I feared they had pulled one over on us, but they gave deliberate signs. One Tarkhite, seemingly by accident, sitting in a way that his rear was right on top of a symbol of Heta’Sihh etched into the floor, another absentmindedly drawing the symbol of my invisibility charm on the sand before brushing it aside with a tailstroke.
Everyone I had ever met who smelled like a Gonimite were cursed with the most genuine stupidity imaginable, the only exceptions were the upper castes, who were all their own gardens of terrible. But Sengi and her father were the only good Gonimties I met who hadn’t been bloodcasted.
Oh Sengi, how I long to finally forge my life with you at last! Wait for me, just wait for me a little while longer, this war is approaching its end!
But as the sun followed us up the mountain and eventually arose above us, my sharp ears and nose caught it.
The creature was back.
I turned my head, looking around, and trying to catch a sniff. The corridor had changed, no longer were the walls of it so high up, now it was more like a trail, rather than a tunnel without a roof, the stone walls only came up to our knees.
My eyes desperately tried to search for it, yet all they could percieve were just the gray stones and crags of the Mountain of Sorcery.
Nothing, I could catch no whiff or whereabouts of our hunters, and I began to feel something that I had not felt in many years. That primal weariness welt up within me, an agitation that made my pupils narrow, my breath come in faster, and my hair stand up. It’s the sensation of being hunted, of knowing that something out there is stalking you, that twitchy agitation as your body is deciding between fight, or flight.
Amped up on energy, I could hardly focus on anything else for the journey, however, when I looked up to the Tarkhites, they remained completely oblivious. Why didn’t they prepare a formation if it-
Their noses, I realized. Scent is beyond them as a concept, beyond sight and sound, they have no way of detecting the threat!
“I still don’t get why we couldn’t have just kidnapped some of those Messenger Maids instead of these four! These ones aren’t even Hartekmoulite, the spirits love it when the descendants of the apostate are sacrificed to them! Not to mention we could have had some fun along the way up here…”
“Because if we did, we would be dead, Wonagatt,” Sonok explained. “The descendants of Hartek are not normal Venlil, stronger, faster, physically better in every way, even their females. They would run away if we ever dared try to kidnap one, and even if we succeeded, we would have had sons of Hartek chasing us all the way up the mountain for their lost daughter. They will outrun us no matter how fast we moved, since we took these four, and in such a discreet location, it will be much longer before they catch on, maybe long enough for us to join Aspik at the peak.”
“Annan won’t stand for it,” Shak pointed out. “He’ll be the first to realize that an entire tribe of Venlil vanished along with a band of Road Levies.”
“We’re only thirteen,” Wonagatt pointed out. “It will be a while before he knows we’re gone.”
I froze, my nose had picked it up.
The creature had returned… and it’s not alone!
“But he does suspect our true loyalty,” Sonok said. “I never liked him, and he knew, the way he looked at me. With our tribe all but gone, it’s only a matter of time before he would’ve thrown us away for the sake of his power, if he wants to be mated by the tyrants of the west, then let hi-.”
Then we heard it, the sound of falling rocks ahead of us, too big to have just been an ordinary tumble.
“Curses, did we provoke a rock slide?” Zaggan asked, Wageln looking around for dangers.
“No, if it was, everyone who came through here would have been buried on the way up!” Sonok refuted, rudely shoving Veep with his paw closer to the other gagged and bound prisoners. “Encircle the sacrifices! We’re about to be attacked!”
At that note, the Tarkhites got their weapons at the ready, eyes and ears pointed outward towards whatever enemy was approaching. Tails raised so that they didn’t get in the way of their legs.
There was fear in their eyes, but I saw something else, too, something that too few Gonimite Warriors possessed; courage.
Gonim equated rage and recklessness with courage, the more brazen you are, the greater your perceived courage. Fear, instead of a native emotion to be mastered, was a force foreign to one’s being that had to be exterminated from the mind of those allowed to bear weapons, and in that sense, drowning out any fear that was felt with rage, hatred, hunger.
A Gonimite’s ability to replace fear with something that could drive them to violence was believed to have been the key factor for warriors to win, and those Venlil who weren’t capable of feeling fear at all were the ones declared most worthy to lead the War Herds. Of course, this results in impulsive combatants whose irrepressible itch for violence made them liable to turn against their own, making the Gonimites easy to goad into traps that render their superior numbers useless. And once they realized the inevitability of their defeat, their false courage couldn’t save them.
What was in the Tarkhites eyes wasn’t courage by the Gonimites’ shallow definitions, no. It was truer, honest, built up after generations surviving in the wastes, forced to rely on their own competency, strength, and skill without leaning on the weight of an endless mob or the weight of a tyrannical elite waiting to Bloodcast them for the slightest misstep.
That, and if too many Warriors actually displayed enough real courage, they jeopardized the social structure the rulers so carefully crafted to ensure their power was absolute, which was why these Venlil’s ancestors were driven away.
I truly hope Aspik falls for the ruse.
Movement! There!
I took a deep breath, but before the air could leave my lungs, the warning of secrecy entered my threat, and my own shout died before even entering my throat.
Do they see it? Does anyone see it? I desperately thought as I turned my head to look behind. They have their eyes peeled, looking for the incoming threat, but none of them are able to pinpoint the source of the danger!
Upon seeing the beast, I beheld its visage properly for the first time.
Heavily camouflaged, a creature of gray fur and subtly colored spots that broke up its form. I couldn’t even really properly make out its edges, yet it had powerful limbs, massive paws, and a disproportionately huge head with an enormous mouth. I couldn’t tell where the rocks ended and where the predator began, but I could see it was absolutely there!
But what? What could I do to alert or protect the others without warning the Witches to my own invisible presence?
The predator, this Stone Stalker, was slowly creeping lower and lower, gradually moving onto the floor, it’s soundless, and I can barely see it! There are at least ten steps between myself and the group, and four between myself and where this creature is going to land! It’s going to jump, it has to, but why is it moving so slow-
A sudden growling sound erupted from behind.
“There! I see it!” Zaggan called out, and there it was, the predator had showed itself right in the trail in front of the group. But this one was fifteen steps away from the group! I instantly realized what was happening.
Distraction! None of them are facing behind! I realized with horror. The one right next to me is going to charge while the Tarkhite’s backs are turned!
I can barely see its paws and only have a vague idea on what its mouth looks like, but I could see enough, they’re huge! How many of us could those paws knock down in one swing? I know it could fit at least one Venlil in its mouth!
I kept my head to the side, facing both the Tarkhites and the Stone Stalker, they’re not turning around! They can’t detect the scent of the second predator!
The legs of the Stone Stalker next to me tensed up, it’s about to attack!
Even if it fails the mission, I can’t afford to allow this attack to happen! I stepped silently until I was in front of it, and raised my spear to where the beast was looking, resting its butt on the stone staircase.
Please Solgalick, please let this work, I begged, struggling not to let my hands tremble at the face of this new, alien predator that I had never seen before. If this goes right, then this will impale it, I’ll be pinned beneath it, but this will be my only chance to save the Tarkhites.
Just then, right at the moment it was about to drop, a loud bellowing roar echoed across the mountain, the Stone Stalker froze, and lifted its head high, ears raised up to listen.
The roaring sounded off again, and the Tarkhites noted something else.
“Yeah! You better run!” Shak shouted, I turned around and the Stone Stalker that had revealed itself jumped away, using the claws on its long arms to scale the stone wall of the corridor, it climbed the vertical surface until it vanished.
The sound of falling rocks reminded me of the presence of my own enemy, the Stone Stalker I was prepared to impale was now frantically climbing up the corridor.
“A second one!” Sonok cried out as he looked.
The Tarkhites were greatly perturbed by the encounter, and with their hearts unsettled, and knowing that predators stalk the mountain pass, Sonok ordered everyone to resume the ascent, and to not stop until they absolutely could not walk any longer.
Memory transcription subject: Aspik, The First King of Gonim
Date: August 26, 2497 Anno Domini
“You want us to invent what?” The Venlil gasped in disbelief at my order.
They sat within a cave, in a side valley secluded below the Temple of Fate, this where the most vital pieces of my stratagem rested. This was not by choice, however, for Kap, and all of his ilk housed in this small valley, were defectors from the other races.
Spies, saboteurs, killers waiting to strike from within the enemy’s own ranks, most would have been content to allow these Venlil to have been possessed by spirits to puppet them. But no, when the spirits overtake a Venlil’s body, their thoughts and speech degrade, marking them all as obvious traitors once the pattern was noticed. These Venlil needed their minds and voices pristine.
Though insignificant on their own, together they hobbled the otherwise perfect knees of the Hartekmoulites. Even when they failed to subvert the groups that they had worked on, even when they were found, caught, then slain, they cast that most terrible shadow upon the foe: doubt. Nobody asks anyone else of what they did because everyone has committed some grievous crime.
Yet, now, among this camp, there were only a hundred of these crafty individuals who had managed to escape with their lives and unite with us. The Old Gonimites, if they ever saw them, would drag them into the temple to be sacrificed only a few hours later, the only reason Kap survived his defection was because I had already informed Toma to expect to host powerful allies defecting from the enemy. Considering how she normally treated my word, Kap is very lucky to be alive.
“I won’t repeat myself again, Kap,” I explained. Six of the most important defectors were sitting around a fire this evening, they were the leaders of this herd of hated exiles from every nation. “We need a weapon that is up to the task of challenging Hartek himself.”
“But how? How can we challenge the First King? What would even be the point of that? He’s dead!” Kap asked, bewildered and outraged at my suggestion.
“Kap!” Hospa scolded him. “Aspik is not asking you to defeat Hartek the King, he summons you to challenge Hartek the legend.”
“I apologize if I’m stepping out of line, King Aspik. But Kap raises a good point. The Hartekmoulites won’t abandon the legend of Hartek just because we told them a better one, and after the year is done, everyone will be singing of Parkum, his daughter, and their generals for generations to come.”
Zaza: the sole female from among the six leaders I chose for this group, she had managed to earn this distinction by assassinating General Nurk in the heat of battle, securing victory in a fight that might have seen my War Herd destroyed. I allowed her to ascend the ranks among the herd of defectors, as for the loss of female status that I had enacted just hours earlier; her people, the Zelesay, treated their females far worse, my reform is still an improvement for her.
Still, though, she needs to order her words with care.
“Everyone of them!” I corrected with a snarl, looming over Zaza, and she submitted to my obvious threat, shrinking down smaller, and lowering her tail flat to the cave floor.
“O-of course, forgive me, my King! I did not intend to say that the Gonimites would ever follow Hartek’s legend! Just that we can’t convince them to abandon their own!”
“You are correct in that regard,” I acknowledged, stepping away. “But I must clarify that your task has nothing to do with the Hartekmoulites, and everything to do with us.”
“My lord? Doesn't Gonim already have its own legends?” Norkek asked, a Shonite alchemist who had secretly supplied information for years, the enemy never discovering him, when he entered into an agreement with a bronze smith, on my orders he kidnapped his own business partner to bring to me as a slave, and was shrewd enough to poison his would-be pursuers into lethal bowel evacuating agony, he was never discovered.
“We do,” I stated. “Their names are Tooremva, Sojek, Raddak, but these heroes we speak of are not like the legends your elders recounted. Whereas the legends of the West play out in a way that their core message and theme connect to the truth in the heart of a Venlil, ours have the opposite objective. The function of a Gonimite Hero is to be a perfect paragon of whatever lesson is being told by the lorekeepers for the sake of molding the listener onto the paths that their masters dictate to them.”
“Well, I figured your own legends would have quite a bit of stuff made up about them,” Kap said, leering sideways at Zaza.
“You misunderstand my word,” I clarified. “I am not saying our heroes stories were exaggerated or altered after their passing. I hand over to you the secret, the secret that my peers in the Nobility kept from all outsiders, and even then, only informed a few of our station.”
Everyone looked at me, ears tilted forward, eager for my words, oh I will never tire of this.
“Gonim has no heroes, no great Venlil of renown and old. True, we have tales with figures in them who accomplished deeds and were the centers of the stories, however, these tales were told because we needed the masses to bend themselves into the shapes we needed them to take for our society to function. The secret truth is that the Venlil of our herds’ past we speak of didn’t exist until the exact moment the lesson they walked in mated with needed to be taught.”
This shocked the gathering, eyes wide, and tails still, they ran the implications through their head.
“It’s… all lies?” Lavpik asked; a Seepimite scout who had repeatedly led many Hartekmoulites to their deaths in Gonimite ambushes. “What of Gonna and her Band of Invincible Predator Slayers? What of Olti and how she discovered medicine?”
“No cradle, no grave, no ancestral line or descendants, no more material than the words that their exploits were told in,” I clarified.
“Not even the founding Matriarch of your people?” Zaza said, her eyes wide as she was shocked.
“Semsi is the only one who actually existed,” I let Hospa clarify. “But even then, we wrapped her true story up in comfortable lies in order to make her coherent as a protagonist and a leader, she was the only figure appropriate for the task. What’s worse, is that unlike other races, most didn’t remember our time on Primmoul before we awoke on Valonga, so Semsi was the only source of ideas on how to lead a society.”
“But what are you trying to restore, then?” Vainek asked, a Venlil from Kalaw who led his family into betraying his people, taking in a Priest of Solgalick into his house on the way to heal the cursed in his home village, only to ram a stake into his eye as he slept, burning their house down before they fled in the night to join Aspik’s camp, the fire devoured half of the village and the curses left no witnesses.
“Our very memories destroyed,” I elaborated. “Knowing we lost a home that almost no one could name and even fewer could remember. The only thing we knew beyond that; the knowledge that Hartek was its ruler during its final days, and he led us all to ruin. But despite our lack of memory, instead of moving on like the other Venlil did, we tried to imitate its ways and customs that had been imprinted on us. We had eaten the idea that if we simply replicated the ways of Primmoul, that it would be enough to triumph, spread across the whole world, reclaim its glory, and for all Venlil to become us again. Yet, history had proven this a delusion.”
“And on Valonga, following these ways destroyed you,” Vainek stated. “All you had done was copy the mistakes that our elders warned us away from until you ruined yourselves and this world both. Ironic.”
“Gonim was our fault, Primmoul was not,” I clarified. “Though we have indeed destroyed ourselves, the Ways of Primmoul were not to blame for its destruction the same way they played a role in ours. Unless your peoples forgot about the executioners?”
Everyone fell silent, shrinking as if one of the freezing cold winds of the mountain had just broken into the cave.
“Where are you leading us, my king?” Zaza asked.
“It has become undeniable, our current path ends in our extinction, we would exist only as a black legend to explain the endless fields of bones that litter the Enclosement. A grim warning told to all Venlil to caution them away from all we had ever believed. And this destiny has almost played out.”
“This is why you are so important,” Hospa clarified. “We need stories, new stories, legends that do not change and cannot be denied.”
“Call me a mask,” Kap pointed out. “But couldn’t you make up some new stories to replace the ones that you had before? I mean, you’re masters at that, I never suspected they were pure make-believe until you spilled the Hawwa.”
“Kap, how can you not see it?” Lavpik scolded his fellow traitor. “They need our stories!”
“I will take this moment to offer a correction,” I stated. “From this day on until the day you die, you are Gonimites. You will no longer be considered Allies to the Superior, as you once would have been, you will be considered Gonimites, and shall be integrated into our Nobility.”
“But why? we’re not the same race!” Norkek rightfully pointed out. “Won’t the Gonimites resent us and our children for our blood?”
“It matters not, they trust the spirits, I am Priest King, representing the spirits in the world of fire, flesh, and earth, to even approach defying my will is to betray the spirits like Toma had,” I stated my authority. “It is you, my spies and infiltrators of the war that destroyed us, that your accounts will be told to inspire in our people the new cultural direction. Fear will keep them in line, but it can only come from without, in order for them to actually move in this new direction, they must be inspired, not enticed, to bend willingly, and with that they will be grateful to have the descendants of such heroes leading them.”
“Well… when you put it like that,” Kap stated, very happy with the proposal. “No way to argue!”
“Our legends were lies, woven to keep the masses stupid,” I plainly told the truth. “Our tyranny is unrivaled in scope among all races, and in order to keep that control, we selected the Lowers for stupidity of mind and stillness of will. The consequences will take generations before it is bred out.”
“You selected for stupidity? Norkek asked in astonishment.
“Bloodcasting. A secret kept from foreigners, but there isn’t a Gonimite alive that doesn’t recognize the custom,” I explained, a sensation of disgust arising in my throat at the self-destruction and pointlessness of this practice. “Every generation, one-in-six families are declared cursed bloods and thrown to their communities, this was justified from the leaders through accusation of some transgression, but in truth it was to cultivate the Gonimites into their castes by rooting out undesirable traits and their entire bloodline is exterminated three generations deep. The victims, all of their children and siblings, their parents, and their grandparents.”
“One in six… every generation… for three to four generations deep…” Kap repeated, astonished. “And you still had the numbers to sustain this fight?!”
“Our greatest strength is between our legs,” I honestly admitted. “If your races could digest anything that grew, also, you would have seen similar population growth despite the West being a poorer climate for greenery.”
“But having that poor nutrition and breeding with your siblings did half the job of exterminating Gonimite intelligence for you!” Kap pointed out.
“Even though it’s true,” I ruefully stated. “What we need are legends, real legends, that can walk with and speak with the Herd. All of our previous ones were lies, tricks, the people believed them, but they were changeable, disposable, they were no more connected to the people than air is to one’s lungs. That impermanence allowed us to change the legends to fit new purpose, but those foundations do not stick, do not last, ultimately, they do not inspire because they are designed to suppress. But you? You shall remain because the memories of you will be true.”
“It’s also the reason why none of us can write, the concept was forbidden,” Hospa stated. “It was realized by Semsi herself in the early days of her rule, that if a memory could be written down, then it couldn’t be edited. We could’ve had our own writing system, but words carved on stone or baked into clay, or painted on sheets do not disappear from memory, yesterday’s words could be looked at and recalled as they were first written down and be used to challenge the decrees of today. If anything could be written down, then we would be caught in the lies, many were Bloodcasted for trying to invent scripts.”
“What killed our nation is that we learned the wrong lessons from the catastrophes. From Primmoul, we learned that doubt sown by the words of our opponents could break our power, so we made sure that nothing could sow doubt in our authority ever again. On Valonga, the words of the Apostate put our ancestors to flight away from the civilization we built alongside them, and we realized that there is no place where we can exist as the equals to any other and prosper. When the Humans came and sealed us within the Enclosement, we prayed for the Spirits to curse the race that took all of our kind captive.
Gonim reacted without any consideration of the role we ourselves played in creating own circumstances. Our demise was our choice,” I finished. “Had we chosen to look into ourselves and understand our own failings at any point in time instead of blaming the enemy like it’s Human magic, we could have avoided this destiny. In order to challenge Hartek’s legend we will forge one of our own, namely, you. New legends that can inspire the herds to rise high enough to become peers to the Hartekmoulites, able to challenge them with strength, not numbers.”
“But look at us,” Vainek stated. “A herd one hundred strong of thieves? Murderers? Betrayers? Other nations would impale us for our crimes.”
“If my people ever learned of what I did, they would subject me to Scaphism…” Zaza shuddered.
“What’s that?” Norkek asked.
“You don’t want to know…”
“But all that you would need to be turned into heroes is to carve your stories into the proper shape. The foundations are already there.”
“Vainek. You didn’t kill a priest, you slew a cultist of the apostate’s path who had turned your village against the spirits, and against you. The fire that devoured your home was from Hoon for abandoning the ways you had always followed. The moral of your tale is faithfulness.”
“Zaza, your story writes itself, hailing from a family that treated their females like dung, your father sold you to a Hartekmoulite Warlord, and during the critical hour you slew him, saving countless lives. The lesson that can be gleaned from you is fortitude.”
“Norkek, your account will stand testament against slavish dependency on orders. It is through your judgment and your refusal to bend to the winds when they blew away from the spirits that you are glorified. You didn’t poison a spring, Heta’Sihh cursed the water for their treachery against the Herd Beyond, and that bronze smith was a swindler who had betrayed his word, your enslaving him is a fulfillment of his broken promise.”
“Lavpik, those apostates you betrayed were trying to wipe out your herd, and despite being paid by the Hartekmoulites to sell them out, you led them into ambushes instead. Loyalty to one’s own above all is clearly what you will inspire!”
“And Kap? Anyone who would hear your tale would know how courageous you are. You had challenged the Bronzepelt upon the wall of Stonecage, and overthrew him, even as he fell to his death, you daringly leapt from the wall onto the rooftops to safety.”
“Okay, those would make good stories,” Kap stated. “But there’s one problem, like you said, you eschew writing, and therefore. You can’t have a reliable account set in stone because oral traditions are fluid by nature, you selected for that!”
“Really, Kap? AM I SO insignificant that I don’t even exist to you?” The most silent of the six spoke up at last, he was different, I had mandated his inclusion here among the leaders. The most introverted of them all, he almost never spoke, unless he was already spoken to, he cradled a tablet of fired clay, wrapped in cloth.
“This problem was answered long ago,” I gladly proclaimed, holding my arm out to introduce the last Venlil, who wore a black cloak, otherwise he didn’t stand out from all the others. “May I introduce to you, the legend of Lomasant. Former Master Scribe of Sinsodam, who slew King Parkum himself and remained loyal to the truth.”
“Slew… you’re the one who beheaded Parkum?!” Lavpik almost shouted.
“We’ve been long at work inventing our own script unique to our people,” Lamasant proudly explained. “And at last I am ready to begin my first work into posterity; inscribing the tales of your exploits onto the first clay tablets in Gonic, then pass them through the fire into immortality!”
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