Post by cortwilliams on Sept 8, 2012 11:21:26 GMT -6
Many aeons ago, before man or god walked the earth, a darker, wilder sort haunted the starry voids-The Elder Titans-Writhing blasphemously, dancing with the sheer delight of the unspeakable horror and wonder their very essences breathed into the tenebrous velvet-folds of their abyssal kingdom, they knew no law and no limitation-Uncreated darkness was their home, the only location suitable, by virtue of its limitless possibilities, of hosting their festive bone-strewn romp accompanied as it was by the gnashing of fangs and hideously beautiful tones played on a bulbous flute by a squat creature of an emerald hue with three faces and seven hands. Such were the days before the usurper gods came. The upstarts, the Gods of Light, came and pressed essence into form and being into time, and slaughtered the strange hybrid creatures that skittered 'round the shifting crimson sands and boiling seas of onyx. The Elder Titans knew when the party was over-Some departed for places even wilder than this womb of eternal night. Some stayed and fought the usurper gods. But alas, even before the dawn of history, the historical axiom proved true: Victory goes to the young, And so, the remaining Elder Titans too were slain by the Gods of Light and Order. The bones and flesh were used to fashion the cosmos. Their blood, however, was poured into clay vessels covered with the magical name-charms of the Gods of Light. The usurper gods poured the contents of these vessels on top of dolls fashioned from clay crudely modeled after their own image, and the dolls came to life in the form of slaves. The Gods of Light made a world for their slaves to live in, and gave them work to do, rules to obey, and of course-taught them how to worship.
But among the animated dolls known as Humanity, a few still carried half-memories communicated by their Titanic blood-Memories of wild and raucous dancing, of the joys of the ceaseless unrestrained numinosity of the Uncreated Darkness, of the great and terrible battles against the hated winged hosts of the Gods of Light. Those whose blood spoke to them most strongly were known as sorcerers, and they refused to bow down to the usurper gods of Light and Order. Instead, they built mighty Towers so that they might storm the celestial palaces and reclaim their birthright. They forged weapons, wove spells, inscribed tomes with volumes of forbidden lore. They knew that they were not yet mighty enough to do battle, that eventually the their rebellious plans for liberation would be discovered, and that they would face the agonies of death and torture, the oblivion of death beneath the rolling waves of an oceanic deluge. But they also knew something else: Nothing disappears without a trace. One day, a portion of Humanity would become strong enough, awake enough-The power of Remembrance would burn in their breasts, and the forbidden lore would be recovered, the daimonic weapons reforged, the Titanic Towers rebuilt. And on that day, the usurper gods will taste the wrath which the terrifying possibilities of true Freedom will unleash, when humanity recovers its Titanic birthright.
When the Stars Are Right!
Cort Williams
But among the animated dolls known as Humanity, a few still carried half-memories communicated by their Titanic blood-Memories of wild and raucous dancing, of the joys of the ceaseless unrestrained numinosity of the Uncreated Darkness, of the great and terrible battles against the hated winged hosts of the Gods of Light. Those whose blood spoke to them most strongly were known as sorcerers, and they refused to bow down to the usurper gods of Light and Order. Instead, they built mighty Towers so that they might storm the celestial palaces and reclaim their birthright. They forged weapons, wove spells, inscribed tomes with volumes of forbidden lore. They knew that they were not yet mighty enough to do battle, that eventually the their rebellious plans for liberation would be discovered, and that they would face the agonies of death and torture, the oblivion of death beneath the rolling waves of an oceanic deluge. But they also knew something else: Nothing disappears without a trace. One day, a portion of Humanity would become strong enough, awake enough-The power of Remembrance would burn in their breasts, and the forbidden lore would be recovered, the daimonic weapons reforged, the Titanic Towers rebuilt. And on that day, the usurper gods will taste the wrath which the terrifying possibilities of true Freedom will unleash, when humanity recovers its Titanic birthright.
When the Stars Are Right!
Cort Williams