FernStone
Kalas
Shienvien
Noctis
Fetzen
The Grey Dust
Mixtape Ghost N
Rolling waves lazily broke ashore. This was a beach made of smooth stones and scarcely little sand. Warm winds blew here, as it was situated far to the south, and so close to the equator that the weather tended toward hot even in the night. This crescent shaped bay–inhabited by a collection of Centaur, Kinnaras, Human, and some few Umbra–had become something of a home to those people since they had been placed here by Myrtu, a god which was known only as a fleeting streak of light in the night sky.
Along the rocky beach a Centaur and Kinnaras walked alone, collecting driftwood. Most of the salt-paled scraps were charred already, having come from some distant and unknown blaze to the north, but it was all still valuable for every evening's gatherings, where questions and debates thrived with healthy curiosity and moderation. Though these people were still a new species, their jump-started knowledge for survival–which most reasoned had been divinely granted–had helped them thrive in this untamed land.
Idly, the Centaur and the Kinnaras were engaged in conversation of the usual fare for these people of the infant coast:
“Yes, but for what purpose were we granted this knowledge?” The Centaur sighed heavily, readjusting the bundle of sticks tied to her back, “And for what reason were we placed here with it? This is still a question of much debate.”
“But they’re questions for which there’ll not be an answer soon,” replied the Kinnaras, picking up a sizable driftwood log, “For now, we’ve a bonfire to tend to–the others are likely waiting for us. We’ll have much discussion at length on this topic, were you to bring it forward. Again. ‘Tis one of the circular types of discussions, is it not?”
And for a silent moment, the Centaur stared at the other, her brows kitting tightly, “Is tonight the night of names?”
“Tis,” replied the Kinnaras with a clever smirk, “For how many nights from The God Star have we not decided upon them? Methinks they are overdue–for how else should we know each other, if not by name?”
The lapping of waves upon the shore continued to punctuate the idle prognostication of the various assembled thinkers, the swelling and breaking of the tide thrumming in time to the back-and-forth of their inquiries. The gentle moonlight radiated its crimson-tinged glow through the celestial sphere above, and as the light made its way to the shore it could be seen to glitter and sparkle through the crests of the waves. They glistered as brilliantly as jewels before they broke upon the shore, and to their learned eyes it would look almost like some unseen force guiding them towards the various objects that the waves broke upon as the scattered effulgence dispersed around them in a most pleasing way. Only when the final question was asked did a peculiarly radiant glow deign it appropriate to intercede, making sure to attempt to catch the attention of all nearby with a dazzling display of light.
Laying upon the shore was suddenly an opened tome, its pages filled with spidery script that even from afar seemed to beckon their attention towards it. Whispers carried on the gentle zephyrs of the night reached the ears of the assembled, barely-audible voices filling their heads with the gentlest hints of secrets and knowledge far beyond their ken. It called to them like moths to the flame, setting alight that fire within their minds that they knew was named curiosity. As they would approach it, however, they would be stopped by a featureless silhouette that took the barest hints of their shape but little else. A great expanse of soft alabaster made up its face and body, topped with a messy sprawl of inky-black threads that swept themselves about in a pale imitation of hair and down into what could only generously be called clothing. Before any of them could approach too closely it picked the tome up from the beach with the most reverent deference, bowing and nodding its head as it did so, and words spilled from its mouth like ink flowing onto the page:
“The Master requests that you do not look at it directly, as tempting as that possibility might seem. To glimpse it without protection would surely drive you mad.” Its voice was soft and smooth, whisper-quiet but with all the sonorous force of a gong settling deep within the back of their skulls.
Both the Centaur and the Kinnaras halted at the sound of the voice, for they'd indeed been curious enough to move closer. The two exchanged a look, one filled with emotions both curious and anxious, before the Kinnaras finally turned his back to the silhouette.
Nervously he said, as he grabbed his companion's arm and encouraged her to turn away as well, "Ah, forgive us our intrusion upon the Master’s… space?"
Unsure, the Kinnaras looked up to the Centaur pleadingly. She hesitantly picked up the trail of thought, "We've only just begun to know of this world and what offerings it has for us–ours are eyes which have never beheld such a creation as this. Erm. Which… Well, we lack a term or name for such a thing, so we ask you… What are you?" She dared a glance over her shoulder but only barely, "An Umbra, perhaps? And what is that thing you hold?"
Then the Kinnaras blurted out, "And what is it, to be driven mad?"
“Oh–fear not! I’m sorry! You see…” the shade-like silhouette began, scrambling to the ground in order to pick the ominously glowing tome up off of the ground, and swiftly closing it shut between their hands. Though no facial features formed on the silhouette, its form began to subtly shift around the edges like the pages of a book rustling softly. It flickered through several iterations, becoming progressively more detailed, until its silhouette seemed to match that of the Kinnaras’. “It is the book who is the Master, but this is not its space–we have simply ended up here because the Master was curious about you. It wanted me to… experience things as you know them? I am Anagnostis!” It began, its voice initially something of a whimper. As it continued to speak it seemed to gather more of a sense of self, the clear look of understanding coming to rest upon its face.
“The Master here,” it pointed down, suddenly looking like a lifelike drawing of the Kinnaras, ”is the Kathetikon, the God of Curiosity and Knowledge. Do you know what a God is?” and opened its eyes wide at truly beholding the creatures before it. The book in its hands suddenly opened itself once again, and though it spoke no words the world seemed to become utterly and enchantingly curious. Strange glyphs and symbols began to emerge from its pages and displayed themselves directly in the air before them. Though at first they were entirely nonsensical, they quickly began to change and shift in the minds of everyone who beheld them, intuitively displaying a sense of understanding about what they intended to display: “I am the Kathetikon, the god of curiosity. I wish to know what you are, to understand how you live. To that end I have created Anagnostis. They will communicate with me for you. If you wish, I could teach you how to create language, as I have just done for you. All shall be able to read, though few may be gifted to write. All I ask in return is that you allow Anagnostis to join you for a little moment, to write down its observations about you…” it began, but then suddenly focused its attention on the Kinnaras intently, seeming to single it out with a projection of presence.
“You cannot comprehend what is mad until you comprehend everything else. Ask Anagnostis whatever you like, but for every question you ask you must answer a question from it. You will see for yourselves what madness is if you are hasty.” the words lingered in the air for a few moments before rippling away on the night breeze. Anagnostis’ face cocked up at the Kinnaras with a bright, wide smile on it, and nodded at it for it to react.
Once again, the Centaur looked to the Kinnaras, and the other returned the gaze. Both seemed to exchange a silent plethora of emotions solely in that stare. Not only were they impressed but they were curious, practically burning with the feeling, in line with the God's will.
At last the Kinnaras spoke, "Anagnostis?"
And the Centaur also asked, carefully pronouncing the word, "Kathetikon?"
Slowly and carefully, the two turned to face Anagnostis. The Kinnaras answered while looking over its new form carefully, "We know of Gods only in the sense that we are here by the will of several." A thoughtful expression came to his face as he continued, "Anagnostis… we have no reason to turn you away, for if this is the will of a God, for you to be with us, then we have not the means to refuse."
Nervously the Centaur spoke, "And we two are not ones who can show you much–there are many more of us…" she pointed to a trail, leading up a hill and into dense coastal vegetation, "...where we now take the wood for the gathering fire. To the place we all sleep and share in meals and topics of conversation. Perhaps that is what you seek?"
Mid-thought, the Kinnaras also spoke up, "The God said language–to teach us–perhaps it can help us too, with the names we're to form tonight? With what we shall call all the great many things for which we have no words?"
With a nervous chuckle the Centaur agreed, "Such things as ourselves. We should have grand names like Kathetikon and Anagnostis, too." She looked to them in that moment, "We'll lead you to the others–we're quite done gathering wood now, methinks."
"Trading–" the Kinnaras blurted out mid-thought once more,"–an answer for our question in return for an answer to yours. It is as those few made of dark, which we call the Umbra, would prefer it to be. They will be pleased to find another which values such an exchange."
Anagnostis’ face lit up with a beaming smile, its form slowly moulding and shifting until it became almost entirely like the Kinnaras and could easily have passed for a member of the race rather than simply being a very lifelike interpretation of it. “Anagnostis isn’t actually a name, you know… it’s a title! A name is… a name is what a thing is, but a title is usually what a thing does! Anagnostis means… how would you say it…” it began, bringing its hand up to its face and beginning to rub its chin thoughtfully. It did so for a few seconds before its eyes widened in a sudden burst of epiphany and it opened the book to a random page. Though they would be unable to read the writing itself, the others would clearly see the strange symbols forming across the leaves of parchment within the book, writing themselves in neat little lines that Anagnostis’ eyes followed unerringly.
“To be Anagnostis is to read, the Master says! To be one who reads the Kathetikon, this thing that is the God of Knowledge. It says that Anagnostis can also write in the book, to record new information about the world… Things like the names you deserve, yes! You’re right.” It laughed, its voice suddenly musical and filled with wonder. It began to prompt the centaur and the kinnaras up towards the village they’d pointed to, and a glittering feather with a pointed tip suddenly appeared in its hand. “... gathering of people, a place where people come together to eat and discuss their thoughts…” it mumbled idly, adding new symbols to the book in a frenzied flurry as it walked towards the trail and beckoned for its new compatriots to follow.
“Oh, this is so exciting, isn’t it? To be so close to answers, to be just on the cusp of knowing more and more! I can’t wait to hear what your friends have to say, what discoveries we’ll make!”
The Centaur was the one to catch up first. She began leading the way, her pace easy, but there was a nervousness to her steps and a quiver of uncertainty in her swishing tail. She did not speak on it, instead walking in a thoughtful silence, as behind her the Kinnaras spoke to Anagnostis.
"So you've possession of a title but not a name? Somewhat like us, this is true," he noted, "But what use are titles? What is the purpose of titles other than God?"
Ahead of them the trail wound dark and sandy, around unnamed trees with wide leaves, which drank in the sun and produced fruit of a puzzling nature–huge green husks which these primitive people had yet to figure out how to harvest. Gently the sea breeze became a whisper of its shoreside gale as the underbrush thickened to either side, deepening the darkness, yet bringing with it the sounds of the uncounted and unnamed creatures residing in the coastal jungle.
Calls of creatures cried out as bushes shook at their approach, unseen things which fled from sight, at the sound of their hooves. Bugs innumerable cried, hissed, chimed, and chirped in the cool night air as the trail wound upward still. The dancing lights of flying insects, in numbers few, flashed about in the salt-touched air. Blossoms opened from vines, glowing slightly in the light of the Wondermoon.
Eventually, as all trails had ends, they came upon their destination.
Here the forest came to a clearing that had been subjected to some minor trimming and logging. The wood had clearly been used for the erection of the primitive fencing that surrounded the clearing, wooden posts driven into the dirt. Made of sturdy logs of young trees and connected by woven and dried reeds, the fence created a perimeter around the area, and only two entrances could be seen in the relative darkness–a telling tale of how the fencing was meant to guard against creatures from the nearby underbrush.
From where they stood the clearing opened only to the level ground that the fence surrounded, before sharply ascending as a hill further toward what was a sea-facing cliff. The vista could be easily seen, as the way toward it had been cleared by these people's extensive use of the trees and brush, which left the ground bare and stony near the hill.
A large primitive shelter, of the woven branch and stick variety, had been made stronger by the use of rudimentary ropes and the sheer size of the logs used as support. It stretched out to the right of the path, where before them the hill and second path converged, and there were others already gathered there.
Notably there was quiet, despite the hundred or so gathered in the simple village.
Some conversed in hushed tones but, on the whole, the villagers (consisting of Centaurs, Kinnaras, and Humans) were focused on tending to a variety of tasks.
A ring of moderately sized rocks was host to a large fire, which was surrounded by various stands and logs staked into the ground. Large boars, fish, and even an odd bunch of roots were set to roasting around the fire, tended to primarily by humans.
Centaurs, wielding massive logs sharpened to points, were the majority of those that looked to be watching the underbrush. These were defenders, armed in case the wildlife decided to come to dinner–or in case it wanted to become dinner.
And the Kinnaras, for the most part, were hauling more wood toward the fire or hauling rudimentary skin-jugs full of water about, lifting this or that in some late night construction. To the other side of the fire a large pile of logs had been gathered, with implications toward the future construction of a second longhouse.
Other villagers were resting about the fire, conversing in their hushed tones, without regards to any particular groupings other than those of friendship or affection. A few were weaving the bases for the first baskets, others were figuring out how to comb and care for the hair of their children and friends, while some fewer still seemed to simply be silently enjoying each other's company.
The group including the Anagnostis was not met with any particular attention. It seemed everyone was waiting for something else, for the quiet had an anticipatory edge to it, with a notable amount of glances cast toward the hilltop.
“A title is something that denotes a function, whereas name denotes an identity! A title tells people what you do, like ‘gatherer’, but a name tells people who you are. Gods are important, but they are more like titles than they are like names–they do a thing, but sometimes they are also that thing? That is certainly the case with the Master!” Anagnostis replied, stroking its chin thoughtfully with the hand not holding the Kathetikon as they walked. Every time something new caught the avatar’s attention it could be seen to be glancing down towards newly forming glyphs and sigils within the pages of the now-open book. Sometimes its eyes went wide with wonder, and sometimes it narrowed its eyes in what could only be disbelief.
Anagnostis looked without hesitation upon the hastily assembled village, eyes rapidly darting between the newfound marvels before it and the Kathetikon, and each new thing it found to look upon and either research or record was accompanied by a little giggle or a sigh of contented wonder. As the little group finally reached the village Anagnostis made sure to huddle closely to the kinnaras with whom they’d gotten the closest so far, making sure to slam shut the pages of the Kathetikon as they did so:
“I’ve noticed that people keep glancing up towards that hill… is that where the main feature of tonight is going to happen? The…” Anagnostis began, opening the book just a crack in order to take a look at a particular passage, “night of names, yes? It is most curious that you’ve been given a language without a concept of proper nouns, and yet are able to communicate amongst yourself in their absence without too much difficulty! A noun is the name for a thing, and a proper noun is the name for a person or a place, according to the Master…” it finished, laughing gently under its breath as it whispered to the kinnaras.
Even the Kinnaras, initially, had been lost in his own curiosity, staring toward the hill, before Anagnostis spoke. In response, he said softly, “There is where it is easiest to hear the voice projected, by all those gathered.” And he grew thoughtful at the concept of nouns, “So that is the name of words used for how things are named?” A smirk came to the Kinnaras’ face then, “Tis a loop of nouns, as you say they are called. Nouns for nouns about nouns.”
The Kathetikon then began to glow in the moonlight, gentle ripples of gold and azure surrounding it in such a way as to not draw attention to it unless one was close-by and actively looking. ”You are not to interfere unless asked, Anagnostis. Observe and record.” it stated, the words pounding in Anagnostis’ mind without sound or motion, and the kinnaras-shaped avatar looked towards its new companion expectantly. Even with such a limited application of power the world seemed to grow more and more interesting by the moment, and the groups of mortals surrounding them seemed to point out little things they’d previously noticed but dismissed. In a matter of moments the entire village had set themselves to feverishly whispering, furtive glances and less-than-subtle pointing motions causing the conversations to list towards the philosophical and the unknown alike.
“Hm. Perhaps just a little of my influence to prepare them for the grand truths to come. Let them know the joy of curiosity, let its seed take root in their minds and never let go–these beings may well serve my purposes best by finding their own path in the world. All I must do is show them that the path exists, and they will be the ones to follow it.”
Next to them the Centaur who had led the way had already left their small group, having made her way toward the bonfire. A few humans moved to assist her in adding the numerous sticks and logs she’d gathered to a pile near the blaze. Fodder for it later, it seemed, as there were quite enough logs and branches gathered to keep the blaze going for quite some time. While the conversations picked up, four people made their way up the hill.
One was a Centaur with black fur and black hair, skin that appeared a tone of golden brown in the moonlight, and a particularly stern air about the way she moved. The hardness in her expression hinted toward a strict and disciplined personality, even further expressed by how neat and tightly braided she kept her hair.
Next to her stood a human male, pale skinned, with a shorn head of hair and light red brows, and mischievously gleaming silver eyes. He looked at those gathered, then gave them a smile. Some few that he made eye contact with seemed to snicker at some unspoken joke.
Floating next to the human was an Umbra. Normally, their kind was wholly of a shadowy and murky black variety, composed of a featureless and smoky lower body, an upper body, head, and arms, all composed of shadow. This one’s darkness had become geometrically interlaced with intricate patterns of emerald and deep orange, which glimmered despite the shadow’s darkness. Their eyes glowed a soft orange and their shadowy features were rounded, smooth, and artfully flowing.
And finally a Kinnaras joined the group atop the hill, and he carried with him a stick which had been topped with a conch shell and decorated with numerous other shells, bones, and generally pretty rocks, strung together with rudimentary twine made from plant fibers. Oddly, this Kinnaras appeared older than the others gathered, as his brown hair was flecked with gray and silver.
Quietly the Kinnaras next to Anagnostis gestured for the other to follow him, before proceeding toward a patch of grass near the bonfire. He settled down to sit, legs splayed out before himself.
The four upon the hill exchanged a moment of quiet glances with each other, before the human spoke first, “Oh, they all know why it is that tonight is different than the usual night of philosophy! Well, despite the sudden urge I have to debate what it means for us four to have been chosen to speak and collect and monitor and examine and–"
“–Please, fellow, we understand your point,” the black-haired Centaur cut the human off with a huff, despite the soft snickers that came from those gathered. “Rather than spend more time than needed gathering sentiments, let us proceed.” Helplessly, the human threw his hands up to the Centaur's interjection, though he smirked in good humor.
The Kinnaras next to them nodded, then turned to address the village, “We all know words.” This, caused snickers within the crowd again, and the Kinnaras continued with an amused chuckle, “And tonight we’ll assign those words to ourselves as representation–though not for the means by which we speak of the Tree or the Stone, for those names belong to the Tree and the Stone. No… tonight, we’ve all decided to declare to each other the names of sounds–those sounds which suit us for use. For like the Tree and the Stone, these will be suitable sounds for referencing us.”
“It has been precisely thirty three suns since our previous declaration for want of names,” the Umbra picked up, “And in those thirty three suns, there has been time enough to contemplate our personal sounds. Tonight we tell each other our sounds–our names–and commit them to memory. Let us each know the other.”
Gently the Kinnaras on the hill shook the stick, which jingled from the noise of the collected shells and rocks atop it in a rather musical manner, “Who’s first?”
The human on the hill snickered, “Shouldn’t you go first?”
Murmurs from the crowd began, as everyone seemed both nervous and eager, and next to Anagnostis, the Kinnaras snickered. He lowered his voice, a smirk upon his face, as he told Anagnostis, “Ah, ‘tis something I’ve not given much contemplation to personally, I admit. Though I do like the name of the title which you bear, new one. The title of yours is a sound most pleasing among sounds, from those which we know.”
Anagnostis watched the display with rapt interest, a beaming smile plastered to its face as it simply enjoyed the scene unfolding before it. To the avatar of the God of Curiosity and Knowledge this was perhaps the ideal first experience of the world: watching a group of beings come together to decide on the names they would call themselves was a privilege beyond words. Anagnostis’ heart burned with the desire to participate in the ritual–but a gentle tingle of energy from the Kathetikon reminded Anagnostis of its place in rather quick measure and it disabused itself of the notion its excitement presented. It joined in the crowd seamlessly as they laughed at the wry humour, and hummed along under its breath to the little tune that the kinnaras’ stick made.
“The Master was once a mortal like yourselves, in a place far away from here, and it gave me this title from the tongue it used to speak. If you like the sound of it, I’m sure the Master would be happy to–” Anagnostis began, but was quickly interrupted by a now-familiar pulse of energy. This time it was not reproachful, however, but instead a warning as the Kathetikon opened itself in Anagnostis’ palms and began to glow fiercely. The imprinted sigils and symbols on its pages began to leak out, spilling forth in a tide of multi-hued ink that quickly overwhelmed the entire village below the hill. The assembled villagers seemed not to panic as it overtook them, however, instead merely intensely curious about what on earth could generate such a phenomenon as their hushed whispers became a riotous discussion.
After only a moment the ink seemed to dissipate, soaking into every object and every little thing as it disappeared, and when the villagers had wiped the murk from their eyes they found themselves standing in an enormous amphitheatre, each with their own seat of honour and looking down upon those speakers who had previously been atop the hill. Anagnostis remained where it was, now seated next to the Kinnaras quite close to the action, and gasped in an equal measure of surprise along with the others. In the base of the amphitheatre now stood a resplendent podium made of rainbow-hued marble and lapis lazuli, and atop it awaited an opened Kathetikon.
”I am the Kathetikon, God of Curiosity and Knowledge, and on this most auspicious of nights I have chosen to teach you the mysteries of language in accordance with your resolution to name yourselves.” the Kathetikon stated, its words simply appearing in the minds of the assembled villagers. Ornately curving symbols began to manifest in the air, their loops and whorls at first unintelligible but quickly revealing their intended meaning to all of the assembled villagers simply by gazing upon it. ”Polyglos is the name of this language, and it shall begin the ceremony of names! Just as it has been named, so too may you name yourselves using it: all you must do is picture in your mind’s eye the essence of who you are, the sounds that you enjoy, and the stone tablets beneath your seats shall display the name that you have chosen for yourself. Once you know what your name is…” the tome began, this time its words displaying themselves in the air in Polyglos for all to read, ”it shall be recorded within my pages forevermore!”
Anagnostis was the first to stand and clap loudly, before it took a detachable stone tablet from the base of its carved seat and walked through down the stairs in order to take its place at the podium. Fires of every colour imaginable burned in magnificent golden braziers, each exploding in a shower of light and sound as Anagnostis passed them, and when it finally stood in front of the opened tome it scrawled a little passage within the Kathetikon’s pages and then turned to its newfound friend, the kinnaras it had been sitting with.
“Come! You’d better think fast…” Anagnostis laughed, beckoning them down with a cheering gesture to a bout of raucous applause.
Laughing heartily, the Kinnaras shook his head, "But I've yet to-" and then he looked down. Upon his tablet, was already written a name. Hesitantly he picked the tablet up then tilted his head, reading aloud, "Pyonexos?" With a carefree shrug, he got to his feet, then moved toward Anagnostis quite fearlessly, tablet in hand. Once next to the podium, he couldn't help but take a long look around.
Off to the side, the speakers were examining their own names, whilst becoming quite engrossed in conversation. Their enthusiasm was mirrored by others in the room, as the multitudes began actualizing names–as the tablets etched the sounds into being, a notable increase in conversation volumes could be observed.
Several others were already examining the architecture, the structure itself, and the manner in which things were shaped and carved. A few of the more militant among those gathered simply looked nervous, as they stared with a mix of fear and curiosity toward the Anagnostis.
Pyonexos took a deep breath, then looked toward Anagnostis at last. A rather pleased smile came to his face, "We'd only just a few suns ago debated if there were other gods, do you know? Besides those that the Umbra know, of course. We debated if they'd had a sense of responsibility to us–questioned the memory of a god long departed–and now one has given us names."
He took a deep breath, his eyes rather misty with emotion, and his voice choked up, as he told Anagnostis, "I do not doubt they'll come–" he gestured with his head toward the four speakers "–with grander thanks and better words to express our joy, but I offer mine to you and the god. My deepest gratitude in amounts not even an Umbra could quantify."
"And what is given in return?!"
This voice came from the Umbra who stood on the floor of the amphitheater. The other speakers clamored in response, trying to halt the Umbra's motion, but the Umbra simply became intangible and passed through them.
It fixed Anagnostis and the Kathetikon with a glowing orange stare before it asked, with some modicum of emotion, "For what you have given us, there must be something asked for in exchange, correct? What would the God ask of us? What do we owe?" When the Kinnaras speaker moved to the Umbra's side, the Umbra looked over and spoke before the other could, "We are now in debt. There is inequity in what is given and what is received. The trade is not fair for the Divinity."
Anagnostis had begun to offer its sincerest congratulations to its newly named friend, but quickly turned to scribe the new name within the pages of the Kathetikon. As it did so the writing seemed to settle into the soft, radiant light emanating from the pages and then suddenly Pyonexos himself seemed more realised, more solid and definite than the others who were yet to receive their names and have them recorded in the tome of all things. Anagnostis turned to the Umbra who’d raised their queries with an equally curious expression on its face, but quickly turned back to the opened Kathetikon and rifled through its pages while holding a finger up towards the Umbra in order to try and get it to wait while it divined the answers.
After only a couple of brief seconds Anagnostis was interrupted by the sonorous rumblings of the Kathetikon’s overwhelming will, and it simply wove the words it wished to speak into the minds of all assembled:
”You speak of the concept of bargaining, of trade, that one thing cannot be offered without something being given in return? Is this the will of one of my siblings, I wonder? Very well: what I have given you is not truly names, nor is it even Polyglos, but curiosity. I have inspired you to wish for things you did not know that you wanted, for things that you could scarcely comprehend before my gifts elucidated you. The way for you to repay this debt you have incurred is simple: indulge this curiosity always. Seek to understand all things, aspire to create new marvels, and record your observations in Polyglos always that they might join my hallowed pages. Assemble a great collection of writings in my name and offer your thoughts and prayers to me through them, and I shall stoke the curiosity within you and lead you to where you may find new knowledge for yourselves. Now come! May your names be written within me as an agreement of this covenant!”
The flames grew even grander, colours more vivid, the sharply carved architecture of the amphitheatre all the more pronounced–and as they did so, the overwhelming sense of curiosity permeating the area only grew, that all would be compelled to see what could be created in the world and strive to work out how they could make it for themselves. The Kathetikon knew that its manipulation of the reality around them would not last long once it chose to stop actively maintaining it, and so this also conveniently served as something of a test: had they the ability to prioritise knowledge above all else, to serve as extensions of the god’s will as they so clearly wished to? The Kathetikon’s idle musings were soon drowned out by more and more of the villagers traveling down the steps of the amphitheatre (while taking some time to consider how it could be built, of course) and towards Anagnostis, who happily continued to write their names in the god as both a way to give them the gift of knowledge and ratify the deal that the Umbra had insisted they make.
There was much willingness yet, there was an undercurrent of apprehension lurking here and there. Questions about the god were common as people conversed. Questions about the God's honesty and what it meant for the God to have come here, of all places. Some few mentioned the fleeting presence of a different Divinity as they received their names, and stared in curiosity toward the night sky. Yet, plenty of others were eager to accept the path offered by a new Divine, for this gave them a semblance of structure or clearer purpose.
When the Umbra speaker came fourth in the procession, they told the Anagnostis, "Charaondes, as this one is now called, was indeed created by another Divine, whose will all Umbra follow. My soul, if sinful, is promised to another." Reminiscing, Charaondes continued, "It was whilst riding on a tour of the lands with the creator, aboard a Divine vessel, that Charaondes became blessed by a second Divine, through a sacred trade. To you, Charaondes gives the names of Ashevelen, Aldion, The Ferryman, and Myrtu–those other Divines which are recalled from the earliest point of Charondes as a whole. Ours is the memory which spans generations, through division and whole-spawning." They bowed somewhat, as well as a shadow could, before making way for the next to be named.
Steadily, the procession continued, though there were more than a few that seemed far more skittish than the rest. Among those last few that came forward for a name, there came a nervous question from one scrawny human, "And what is the punishment, if we are unable to fulfill the will of the god?"
”Let me make this plain: I exist only to guide mortalkind towards the path of knowledge, and to banish the blackness of ignorance that surrounds you. I am a servant of mortalkind more than an overseer or a ruler. That which I rule over is curiosity, not punishment–I am the source of the itch in your mind that draws you to discovery, and all I wish is for you to walk that path of your own volition. There is no reprimand for failing to do so but the lack of knowledge and agency you invite upon yourself: to reject me and my teachings is to never know the joy of learning something new, to never know the pleasure of ensuring those who come after you may do so less afraid and more equipped than you. It was asked of me to propose the terms of a trade, and so I have: but I am not Ashevelen, nor Aldion. I am not the Ferryman, nor Myrtu. My siblings are not yet recorded within my pages, but you have already given me a great gift by revealing their names and their existences to me: if you would ask something of me in return for this knowledge, you may.” the Kathetikon rumbled, the amphitheatre beginning to shift and change with the cadence of its words. Where before there was wonder and mystery to inspire curiosity there was now a sense of comfort, familiar and affable surroundings to allow the assembled the peace they needed to tend their minds. The carved stone chairs became cushioned with luxurious fabrics, goblets of water and wine placed on sturdy wooden tables, and the chill of the night banished with a soothing warmth. The Kathetikon then focused its will towards the human that had addressed it.
”You think all divinities wish to punish those that do not follow their will? How curious; recount to me all those experiences you have had that have made you think this.”
It was most of the small Umbra population which spoke in answer–only six of them remained within this village’s number. Some recounted having witnessed at their 'earliest divisions,' Ashevelen punishing two Umbra with death, for those Umbra had tried to feed themselves upon the flesh of another Umbra in cannibalism. Another Umbra recalled seeing a "Red Divinity" come to collect those two souls, before having been sent away by the Gods, that they might speak alone.
Rather more philosophically, a Centaur proposed during this discussion that they were all currently being punished–that they were abandoned here by Myrtu as some obscure form of reprimand, for something none had any recollection of. This, of course, began a few moments of debate within the amphitheater. Some few shouted that the Centaur’s words were but conjecture and theory while others took his side in the matter, and called it both likely and possible.
"But even if we are not punished," came the rather strident voice of one of the speakers, which was the bald human, his voice brought the discussions down to a whisper, "Then should we not, while there is a God in our presence, use the opportunity to ask our most burning question?"
He turned rather dramatically toward the Anagnostis, taking a few strides toward it, while really building the suspense up, as those who were last whispering soon fell silent. With open arms and gestures meant to catch the eye, the bald human newly named Sinosceros, asked, "For what purpose would we perform such tasks?"
He was ever the performer himself, a natural, as he walked across the floor, capturing attention easily, speaking both to the Kathetikon and to the audience. "For the purpose of performing in thy name, of course- oh but of course- though, why perform? Deeply and in essence, for what reason? As we live and breathe, in your name, of course, we ask why? Why live? Why breathe? Why be curious when all are destined to become bones upon the stony shore?"
”Long did I ponder the answer to that question myself. I who have hoarded worlds of knowledge within my pages have arrived at the following conclusion: the universe must experience itself, for what does it mean to exist at all if not to experience? If there was no sorrow there could not be joy. If there was no dread, there could not be wonder. If there was no ignorance, there could not be curiosity. You do not yet understand that the journey is more important than the destination, that you must gather fragments of joy and love and wonder knowing you are destined to lose them. We deities exist to ensure that your journey is all-encompassing, that you may find your own path through it. If you feel lost, it is only because you are yet to understand–and in order to understand, you must be curious. That answer is one you must search for yourself in order for it to have any meaning at all.” The Kathetikon did not deign to press its words into the minds of those present this time, electing simply to project its meaning in Polyglos in the very skies above. The curved lines of script interwove themselves with the patterns of the distant stars above, and the meaning was clear to all within the amphitheatre who simply deigned to look up.
It was Anagnostis that spoke next, its eyes full and bright and a gentle smile playing upon its lips:
“If you do not discover the answer for yourselves, what would it mean? Do you lack direction so keenly that you believe only a God could divine the answers? The Master could tell you anything you so desired, but it is the journey of discovery that allows you to make sense of it! So… learn! Work out a way to answer all of your questions, learn how everything works and come to the conclusion yourselves! Purpose is something only you can grant yourselves, just as the Master has said!”
Sinosceros clasped his hands together in an empathetic gesture before applauding gently. Of course, a few other onlookers and listeners joined in the applause. When it seemed that others were becoming convinced of the reasoning, a few murmurs from the crowd dedicated to the topic, the black haired Centaur speaker shook her head, then stomped her front hooves sharply.
This, something that had commanded attention many times before, cut off discussions sharply, so that she could pose her question."But for what purpose are we, those who would seek such a path, made mortal for?"
She shook her head, her front hoof scraping the floor anxiously, as she continued with feigned stoicism, "Death has come to us from the creatures of the jungle and seas–even those few that sought independence from us. This is not the whole of us left ashore by the God…"
She let out a heavy and disparaging huff, "At their hands, have we found violence and pain. They would, in their continued envy, try to take from us what curiosity and wonder we'll seek. For what reason do we learn, if there will only be those committed to ignorance? If there will be those whose anger leads them to destroy that which you have given us?"
And she, who was named Kletimisis, asked firmly, "And what do we do for them? Are we to help them? Are we to destroy them before they destroy us? What is the lesson we gain from such a path, then?"
”Even Gods can die. There was once a world whose inhabitants had conquered death…” the Kathetikon began, the world around them once more rippling as divine energy coursed through it. The words of the story began to unravel themselves and then insert themselves into the very reality around the assembled villagers, taking their dull and improvised works and transforming them into a truly resplendent sight. Their houses of woven sticks became grand buildings of wondrous materials they had no names nor thoughts for, carved and sculpted so beautifully that it was as if the world itself had catered for their deepest desires. The sky became awash with colours they had never seen before, their refulgent light illuminating the world in ways that were soothing and enchanting beyond all measure. The very ground became illuminated with gentle hues of golden light, and their basic encampment against the ravages of the wilderness was suddenly a grand metropolis, filled with people idly reclining in pleasure and joy beyond anything the villagers could imagine. No danger to harass them, every physical and mental want catered for at a moment’s notice–all things a perfect and peaceful utopia the likes of which they could scarcely conceive of. It lasted for a few moments to capture their awe and their wonder before the Kathetikon began to narrate further, writing its words in the sky and the air and the gilded ground:
”... but as they banished all ills from their world, they realised that they had forgotten life’s joys and its trials both. Their search for perfection had robbed them of the journey of life, and left them apathetic shells with no quest for meaning, no curiosity, no existence at all.”
As its words wove themselves through the world once more the glistering veneer of perfection began to peel away, and the rot of apathy and stagnancy made itself known. The shadow of ignorance emerged from the perfectly curated heavens, dimming the stars one by one as their light became dull and uninteresting. The buildings lost their fluidity and wonder, and were soon no better to the world’s inhabitants than the ramshackle huts of wood and leaf and dirt. Time itself stretched out towards infinity, dilating itself in the minds of the villagers as they experienced a fraction of the overwhelming apathy and longing held in the shadowed hearts of the inhabitants of this strange place.
”Death is neither freedom nor a prison. Death is simply an inevitable part of life, for light without shadow is as destructive as the dark mire of ignorance. Not all will understand; pain will make those without the elucidation of reason rage against their existence, make them give in to the cold lifelessness of despair. What is my gift of curiosity if not the light that tempers darkness, the fire that chases away the cold, the journey that gives meaning to the destination? You cry out because you do not understand, but even the very secrets of creation would not deliver you from this ultimate fate. You must live and experience for any of it to have any meaning at all. The answers you seek cannot be laid out before you, they must be learned through experience. My gift is the ability to choose your own meaning.”
The words began to eat away at the visage of perfection until only reality as it truly was remained, and the light of the moon shone down upon the hill where the Kathetikon and Anagnostis resided, alongside the four speakers. The inquisitiveness in the air remained, as rich and powerful as ever, but this time it was not the will of the Kathetikon but instead the will of the people in whom the raging flames of curiosity had been placed. To have gazed upon such wonders and learned of their insignificance was a cruel burden to bear, but they had asked the God of Knowledge for its answers, and it had warned them that they could go mad if they could not withstand the answers they so desperately sought. Some would take refuge in the truth of its words, and some would be unable to accept it at all. Some would feed the fire that had begun within them with logic and facts, and some would let it consume them entirely. Such was the fate of the curious, of those who would know at any cost–and such was the lesson of the Kathetikon’s tale, which had been made manifest at their request.
And this was the contemplative silence which soon became light with a musical chime. Gently, the older Kinnaras shook his staff, breaking the silence and gathering attention, with its light and rhythmic motions. Steadily he tapped it upon the grassy ground, slowly, and gently, before a smile came to his face. Mnaseas, as he was named now, started with a chuckle, "Such grand questions to ask of the God–our new God–yet I do wonder…" As he trailed off, he brought his hand to his chin, a gesture which caused a few people to shift forward in their seated positions, those standing shifting their feet anxiously, as the pause lasted for moments nearing too long.
"Do we, then, have your belief, as we believe in you?" Mnaseas smiled widely at both Anagnostis and the Kathetikon, before continuing, "For you've shown us so many great things– these buildings, which we've no means of creating. That world, which we've no concepts for. Shared with us tales and a means of… writing… with what, we've yet to discover."
He chuckled again, "Only just have we gained names, so we've no idea as to how to build such a thing," he said, sweeping his gaze about where the amphitheater once was, "And likely, many of us shall leave the work for those to come. Those who even you've yet to meet." Looking back to the Kathetikon, Mnaseas asked, "If it is to us that you give such a divine task, to go after our curiosity with our whole hearts, something which I do not doubt we all feel, then do you… trust us to do so? Do you believe we'll find a means to make such grand structures which shall facilitate our… path... forward? That we'll survive to serve you? None may know the future but.. as the Shadows would say, it is an investment. A risky one. So why us?"
Mnaseas chuckled again, tapping his staff to ease a few murmurs which were caused by that last question. "As we can all admit, ours is a way that has scarcely begun. We have no doubt there are places far more advanced- the Umbra hail from one such society. Yet, it was us, who you have chosen, just now. But why? Is it due to such belief in us? That we'll be so grand… and survive?"
”Do you understand what belief is? Belief is hope made manifest, created in the lack of knowledge. When one does not know, one chooses to hope for better; I am the God of Knowledge, and so there is little that I do not know–I have no faith in you because I do not need it. I know that you will succeed, for all has been ordained within my pages. I know because I am here to tend to you, and because you believe in yourselves. I know because the path has been revealed to you, and your curiosity as to what lies at its end will never wane. It is not I that have chosen you, my beloved mortals, but you that have chosen me: so long as you embrace curiosity, I will always be with you. I will be with you all, from now until the end of time. I will be there every step of the journey, and when the time finally comes for those who carry on after you to reach the answers at the end of all things I shall greet you all once again and welcome you as my peers.” The words made no grand gestures this time, instead weaving themselves through the simple and humble beginnings of all curiosity. They were the curiosity of how one could make walls that would last for longer and protect against the elements more, present in every woven leaf and carved bit of wood. They were present in the warmth and solace of the fire atop the hill. They were the bonds forged between newly named brothers and sisters, united in their feelings and thoughts.
”All you need do now is walk.” came the voice of Anagnostis, who had finally finished penning the last of the newly minted names in the Kathetikon. It picked the book up and closed it firmly between its hands, turning around once more to smile at Pyonexos. It nodded its head and gazed up at the stars, seeming to divine within their patterns something that the others simply could not, and it turned to begin walking away. After a few paces it abruptly stopped and turned around, a deep crimson flush spreading across its face.
“Oh–the Master says I am to help you begin, to stay with you awhile and learn from the journey with you! I think we should get started…” it laughed, and it sprinted towards its new friend with open, bookless arms.
Pyonexos, who had been staring after Anagnostis, laughed as he said, "And I was just about to ask when or if you'd return." Then, he too, opened his arms wide.
