The memory of the world is a fickle thing, like waves; it comes and goes. Truths are not lost to all, for those who saw the first day still dwell, though they are few. Yet those who remember the darkness are fewer still, and from them, very little can be known of the earliest age of the world. This was the oldest of all times, one so old that fear begins to take hold when pondered too closely. In that beginning, long before even Man’s gods breathed their first breath, there sat a long and a still everdark that bound and surrounded all that would become known.
Yet this was something far worse than a still darkness. For this was the time of chaos, before any semblance of a thing thought of as life made its first eager attempts at becoming known. There in that time was only that which came before all, and remains still hidden, the immaterial. Besieging the immaterial, there lay that which was the Gehn, monsters of a primal nature. For those who know, before time, before anything, this was the law, and it was monstrous. For the Gehn were not a thing alive, their nature was of a terrible, writhing chaos. Some manner of being they were before the great deluge, and of such an immense size that they stretched and sprawled across every corner of what would become the material. As a sea of writing horror, they were, everywhere was madness and terror. Hunger was their law, and ever did they gnaw and claw and bite at one another. A mindless and terrible frenzy was the only source of anything in the immaterial. Whatever their strength granted them, what they could not eat, they fought; what they could not fight, they hid from. For in some measure, they were cowardly. Bile and slime came in torrents among them; decay and rot were a friend to them.
Yet amidst this madness, hidden beyond all sense, stretching nigh infinite, there was one of time and space, of thought and consciousness. The thought, the One, the beginning, and the end of all things. Not of body nor being, incomprehensible to all but a few, the greatest mystery ever made and one that encompassed all and was all; in a later age it was simply called Time, but to those with whom the great secrets of the word are revealed, it was called Boruhandanaia, The Great Will.
By this Will, two would come to do the bidding of life, sprung into existence, and cast into being by the very order of the universe which lay endless and eternal, beyond night and day. Bound to its purpose, neither wholly free nor wholly bound, a gardener and a destroyer, a sister and a brother, one to mold and one to cull. Nila, the mother whose endless vision beheld all the light not yet burst, every life yet lived, and every death yet to come. So too came Kataka, the other, the shadow of her benevolence, first warrior, first master, and first conqueror.
Mightier than all is he, for he is power, and his power made him lord and master of doom. Light and dark arrived in that infernal sea. Where Nila’s age would come later, first came the age of her brother, an age of righteous slaughter. Before the coming of the first days of spring, a crown was given to him to conquer. Given from the first to the second, and so from Nila to Kataka, the very first light came, tearing into the darkness, bursting forth red and wrothful. Upon his brow, a stellar diadem emblazoned with twelve radiant stars of piercing light to behold. Upon that hour, Kataka drew from his side a flaming sword and named it Death, and the Gehn who beheld him saw doom.
He set forth, a herald of slaughter. Kataka's burning wrath was made known to the monsters, who could do nothing but fall beneath his searing blade. Deathless though they were, beneath Kataka's rage, they perished all the same, his fury absolute, his strength thus that he threw their number aside and spared none. His power thus that he could not be stopped; fueled and impassioned by the Will, he became a reaper of doom. Before them, he rose like a tower of iron flame, a dreadful visage of blood and gore, atop which sat a caldera of holy flame dancing and circling like madness overhead. To some unknown drum beat, he carried forth, like a mad dance, or some tempest of flame and ruin. Before him, they whirled and cried, their blood seeped and corroded each other, bile raised from monster to monster as he raised his hand to smite them.
For by him came the tolling of their end, beholden to him was the manner of slaughter and reaping, as they fled from him, his eye was not lifted from the deed. A villain he seemed, a demon of malice and rage, and he went on, and as he slew, his sword whirled and whistled a new song. None could dim his power, and by it, he arose ever greater and pierced the Gehn at the source, burned them away as a field, and cleared the way for the arrival of that much greater than them. The cosmos was bathed in searing white flame, in an endless and penetrating heat. To this, a battle hymn of triumph, Kataka marched on, and all beneath him were enveloped within this hurricane of wroth and sundered by it.
Part II:
The Springing of Aelutea
After so many lifetimes of slaughter and death, the work was done, and all echoes of the times before passed beyond like ripples in a great sea. For the first time, silence came into existence, and it was good. Madness ceased, and the very foundations of the new cosmos breathed as one in whom breath had been kept. Drawn beyond to the dead, the Gehn whimpered away to a place none present know. As this time of madness drew its final breath, light began its slow ascent. Not the burning light of a conqueror, but the gentle ember of an unfolding flower long hidden beneath frigid frost.
For what had once been a mere thought, now sprang forth into reality, a seed was sown then, by her very thought it came and was tended to. And yet Kataka decried her, and in a stern voice, he said
"Is this the manner by which you have ordered me? So that all that I have done shall be to this end? To water some small thing?"
And yet the care of Mother Nila was so vast, she spoke simply to him
"Is it not for such small things that our wills are made? Is it not for all that this, thy righteous deed has made, and by mine own work shall a new and better thing come? Leave your harsh words in the air, and leave the maker to their work."
So came the first days of the great Muhaitza, the cosmic tree, a sapling small and vulnerable. Yet by the tending of Nila and her very tears and spit, the tree began to burst, to grow and sprout. Wide and far it spread, and its limbs came and dug into all things before it and around it, tangling and mingling with the natural and the immaterial. As it twisted and grew greater and greater, it began sprouting fruit of its own, bright and burning. When they grew plump, they were plucked, and Nila herself held Muhaitza's fruit, and she deemed them stars. And as these stars fell, she scattered them, and soon the universe knew its first light born of life. Life and fate, those things given by Mother Nila, were now tethered to her tree, and with its bending and creaking, time passed on, and there with its birth, the word of the Great Will was spoken aloud for the first time.
And yet, before Mother Nila still lay mountains upon mountains of bleeding flesh, and so she began to set herself to a new task. Molding it with her gentle touch, she shaped this flesh into that of a great sphere, round, firm, and rigid. She set it down in a corner deemed true and there knit into it, the various branches of her tree, and dew water sprang forth from it and encompassed the sphere. And Mother Nila decreed that there was to be a barrier between these waters and the heavens above, and so she blanketed the space and called it sky.
And it was there at that time a beautiful scene, foremost of all the beauties of the world to come. For in that time the stars above danced free, as free as fireflies in midsummer. Their light poured onto the dire and lifeless husk of the world, and grace came to that barren place for the first time. No more did the land ooze the bile of the dead Gehn, now it was still and quiet beneath the glory of the light of the world. Clouds formed from the waters, and downpoured rain which blanketed the cold ground, light from heaven piercing every drop, and from them a cavalcade of colors came and shone for none. For no eyes rested there upon the earth to see, no ears stood upon a high place to hear, for the grace of those called Gods was without an audience, without any to view its glory.
Mother Nila saw that the flame of her brother's crown had dimmed, and power was pulled away from him to her. Seeing this, she then lifted the great fog hiding her world from his gaze. And solely in the life of one of the longest who has ever lived, Kataka knew a wonder that pierced him deep, for not yet had the world grown to its fullest beauty, and still there he saw it and he was enamored of it, and vision of its softened his warlust and calmed his tumults. This was called the First Gift of Nila, the uncovering of the vast world of her design.
And by her command, Kataka swung down his great sword, and the world shuddered under its weight. Mighty mounds were flung up from the depths of the waters, and at their peaks, Kataka sharpened his blade once more. The stillness of the land was at an end, the time of making had uncovered all, and from blood glittered rubies and sapphires, gems hardened by the weight of the world and the easing of the world. For as the land was flung up by the blows of Kataka, these minerals too were flown up, and they caught the light of the stars and cast a great glinting light upon the world. Mother Nila deemed these places Land, and the highest of this land she called Mountains.
Beneath Muhaitza’s very roots, a cry was heard that surprised Mother Nila, and in her endless curiosity, she gazed there beneath it and found a pool of dew had formed, and there cried two born in it, not of her intention. Two newborns, life sprung by the waters of Muhaitza, magnificence, and innocence to behold, and so Mother Nila beheld them with care. New life had now cried out, and yet Kataka rebuked her once more; this was life not of her own, life unfit to be in the new world she was building. By his stern hand had he implored her to grant the children a swift death. Yet the good mother took the babes into her arms and soothed them. Gazing deep into their eyes, she saw the glint of stellar light. They had seen her light, the light of Muhaitza's fruit, burning high and all around now, and so the eternal mother pitied them and named them each Anemi and Indun, Dearest and Goodness.
For beneath Muhaitza’s root, life first sprang into being. Anemi and Indun came, and Nila gifted them thought all their own. The Will was passed down there, flowing out, and grafting upon them a mind and soul, and they became awake and willful in understanding their nature and surroundings. But Kataka, the shadow, did not trust these children, and in his mistrust, he bid one of them to be taken by him and guarded, watched over, and observed, for he was ever-vigilant of the appearance of the formless Gehn. With great reluctance, Nila passed over the younger Indun to Kataka, who took him to reside among the stars, his warden, and his father. As Nila set Anemi down amid the world and bid him explore, she watched as he walked alone. Above the shadow of his head, she saw all, and a single tear fell from her cheek.
Anemi's life was wandering in the dim light of the army of stars overhead. He strode across the young earth, following them across the black sky. In his wanderings, he traced their journeys and came to favor two: the dawn star, which he named Dernkohma, meaning "Day-Bringer," and the evening star, which he named Nauthlepari, "Night-Runner". He murmured quiet questions at first, hoping to hear far off some answer, but each time, he saw only as the stars shimmered on, silent and glimmering.
Each time sleep began to come over him, he became distressed, for he thought sleep led to death. Yet Mother Nila heard his cries and once more pitied him, and so when Anemi came to tremble, she would sing him a fair song or tell a story far off for him. By this, he was soothed, and sleep came to him more easily. Mother Nila told him stories that rang in his ears as he wandered the barren world, of future tidings, valiant heroes, great leaders and deeds, romance and tragedy, revenge and forgiveness, and oaths honored, which greatly pleased him. Anemi found sleep coming easier and easier, and the giant’s heart softened and eased.
So Anemi wandered further and further, no stain graced the land then, and no lands yet had names. Anemi walked alone, and where he lay, valleys sprang into the land. For as he walked and trod, singing songs to himself as he named a great many things in a tongue all his own. As he woke and walked, his joy was greater, and Mother Nila was proud of him.
Part III:
The Mozekata
But sudden sorrow came over Nila, for she was made grim for knowledge she was, and no destiny nor future escaped her. She knew what was needed, and from the great pool beneath Muhaitza, the Mother poured forth the tree's waters, and with fashioning, she lifted a little boy from it, an immortal being of her design, tethered to the very fate of the world and inheritor of the deeds of the twins. She called out his name, Aelum, which means Fate, but by the tongue of the Aleuai, he came to be called Weda, which means Lord. By Aelum's name, he gave the world its very name, Aelutea, Aelum's Place. And by these first words, he conversed with his mother, and she taught him a great deal of the nature of the universe.
Nila ventured to the pool beneath Muhaitza twice more, and two more of Weda’s kin were made there, a girl and a boy, so now their number was three. They were named Sakratua and Burrun, and they greeted and honored the elder among them, granting him rulership over them. From the swirling pool of the great tree, Aelum and his kin came thrust into the world and tied to its fate. Their destiny was of sacrifice, and Aelum particularly came to understand a great many things very early. With painful eyes, Nila sent her children into the world, and their mission was made apparent to them.
Anemi lay in a blissful dream when they came upon him. They, no larger than lashes on the giant's eye, yet bound to this fated act. Aelum first raised a rod of hard iron, and his kin followed as they struck their wounds. As he awoke, a great roar burst from the giant, one of a kind that has never again been heard in all the world's days. The sky shuddered as for moments he fought and thrashed about wildly, but the work of Mother's children was done, and Anemi's body stiffened, the breath of life fled from his lips, and at last, he lay still.
When the giant Anemi lay dead, Burrun arose and carved from Anemi his skin and laid it upon the hard ground as a blanket of warmth. From there, many fruits, grains, and means of food were made so the land would not know hunger. Then Burrun dug into the earth until he reached the sea, there he had run down Anemi's sweat into the harsh sea. There came many bountiful fish, reptiles, and seabirds with which to give the gift of life. From him, Burrun went further and tore from him his two eyes and beckoned then that they be cast into the very sky. There, the siblings forged for themselves fire and cast one of Anemi's eyes into the sky to the east and named it Arga, which means light, and to the west, they threw Anemi's other eye, though by this time they had lost their fire. The western eye was thrown by Burrun unlit, and its name was Iarga. tore from him his two eyes and beckoned then that they be cast into the very sky. There, the siblings forged for themselves fire and cast one of Anemi's eyes into the sky to the east and named it Arga, which means light, and to the west, they threw Anemi's other eye, though by this time they had lost their fire. The western eye was thrown by Burrun unlit, and its name was Iarga.
Yet as Anemi had lay dying, his tears fell heavy upon stone and earth, and life of a new kind emerged. Life not from Nila but from him, thus the first of the Eutunaz had awoken, the Children of Tears. In their tongue, they know Anemi as the Golden Father or Aurelmir. Over hard rocks and under the shade of trees, the children of Aurelmir would spring and join together. Many would spring from these first tears, many of great power and many subservient and servile. The greatest and proudest of them were three, Krónaðr, Voldugr, and Hrunir, and they were named as the first fathers of their people.
Yet, as life had come, not by the designs of Nila herself, she gazed long upon the people of Anemi, and for a moment, she was filled with sternness like that of a parent. She came to a simmering wrath at the life before her. At once, she spoke to Kataka and bid him to slay the Eutunaz, but as she gazed upon them once more, her heart was moved to pity. For in their eyes, she saw that of Anemi, and she stayed Kataka’s hand and allowed the Eutunaz to be gifted life true. So once more by the pity of Mother Nila, life was granted to the race of giants, and by her accord, thus sprang the unlooked-for first race of mortals in the young world.
High and far away, the three children of Mother Nila arranged among themselves the domains each would receive in the new physical world. Sakratua, grim and of a foreboding nature, wished for the underlings of the world, where the deep and dark lay, gems and stones untouched, and the long tombs of those who would be one day doomed to death came to be her abode. For she felt comfort in the forgetful dark, the endurance of it, and the world under became hers.
Burrun, seated upon a gilded chariot of his own fashioning, pulled by great beasts, made it known he wished to take to the skies, and so he was given this by Weda, his brother. Burrun was quick to rage and slow to forget rivals; he and his sister did not contend well with one another, only did they cooperate from a love of their brother and lord. In wisdom did Weda wish to keep them apart, for their quarreling would shake the very foundations of the world.
And so, Weda, the highest of them, took the very land of the world, that between the heavens and the hells, the domain of life and renewal, but perishable and mortal. This suited Weda well, for he was of an inquisitive mind; seeking out all the world’s wisdom was his highest joy. And so, this is how the world came to be divided; the three each set out to build an abode for themselves in their new lands.
Sakratua built a deep, cavernous hall for herself in the splendid dark. There she made her home and among that place, it is called Hildurrak, the Dead Palace, where shined lanterns hang below its rock ceiling, an imitation of the very stars. Yet it was a place of tremendous terror, for there to the throne of the Dead Queen, souls of those mortals doomed to death would come and receive their judgment by her eyes, and by her judgment would they be given their punishment until the day when the sun turned black and the moon hollow, and where then fell from the sky and the world came to be blanketed in a dark and endless fog.
High Burrun, so vain and proud even then, built his grand hall among the mountain peaks and the clouds. Balihan he named it, for the altitude of his valor in his mind knew no equal. There at Burrun’s keep, one could find fine beers and hearty meats flowing endlessly, for in the elder days, Burrun himself hunted in the vast forests. High above, he roamed the wide skies in search of the freshest game and the finest brews. Drunk and in a stupor, one could often find him, and he was often of a jovial mind before his arrogance and pride destroyed him. Balihan itself is a splendorous place, floating high above atop the clouds. Pillars of white stone rise with it like frozen lightning reaching to touch the heavens. Draperies of the finest silver silk billow down within and shine on through the light of the sun and stars. By no swift foot can one approach; only by the skies can the sky god’s hall be reached, and only by it can one leave.
Weda made no hall for himself, for he loved wandering and roaming the wide world. Yet he knew that a hall for the coming gods would be needed and so he set out to find a place for this to be done. Beyond beautiful it would be, an abode surpassing all thought and all means of emulation. And so, upon a splendid plain, first Weda exorcised this place from the realms of mortals, a place eternal and still, where the echoes of life would come to reside. A hall of all halls, the abode of the righteous dead, rewarded with gentle days and joy as Men came to dwell there and be welcomed in the realm of their gods. Each of the first three built a minor hall among the fields of Eremana. All perceived it in their own time. From the first Man to the last to die, each arrived in that place at this one time, all would gather, free of the toils they perished of.
All in this time would have made their journey to Hildurrak, but for those whose destiny lay high above, their journeys were swift and tireless, and their reward in death would outpace tenfold the suffering of their lives. Beyond great it was, beyond good, life there was blissful and peaceful, nature and the land itself glimmered on in the purest form of life imaginable. It was as a mirror of mortal life, as life is a shadow; those dwelling in Eremana stood proud in the sun of its splendor. And overlooking the wide plain, Weda perched the great hall of the gods atop the peak of Trongaren, the mountain of all mountains, the very mountain where Kataka's great sword struck first. There would stand Aeluala, Aelum's hall, where the divine ones would reside. It shone with a light like no other, for the very light of the realm shimmered out from it. When the hall’s doors were opened, it was akin to the rising sun, and once closed, a quiet night came over the land, and above, the Arestarun danced in the timid sky. The godly lights echoed into the physical world itself and in many mortal tongues, they are called the Northern Lights or the Dancing Light. And the realm was called Ederice, akin to the first silence of the world, peaceful and still.
Part IV:
The First Ezinake
And as the Aleuai made each their own abodes and their own lands, they gathered thereupon the field of Eremana and there made it a vast and holy place. For this was to be the meeting place appointed for those who have died and who will die. Where the righteous dead of the Artzaina shall come. To make beautiful the land of Weda there ordained, and to tend and be still, save the ending of the world. Yet the time appointed for the coming of the ones Weda called the Artzaina had not yet come, and all there upon the field were of the Aleuai, both the siblings of Weda, their lord, and many lesser attendants of them, whose number is not known and who are called the Ostlara, the host of heaven.
In the concentration of Eremana, and the light now came from Ederice, Weda and his siblings could spy far indeed into the rock and soil of the earth. And there they spied that which brought them disquiet. For made clear then, the Eutunaz had awoken and come to their thought. And their displeasure with the High Ones was plain to see, for they wore a visage of pain in seeing the world, a world wrought of their Father's bones. And by seeing this displeasure, Weda sought to treat with them. Then it was that he came down to them in the visage of the King of the world, scepter in hand and wide stepping, and they were terrified of him. For the visage of Weda in that time was of a pillar of light raging within itself, and though he tried to give them many gifts of his own making, they refused all and did not wish to incur the wrath of one deemed so reverent. And they asked him in a clear voice, as though one cries on to a parent.
"Come away from us now, for thou art called Weda by thine own tongue. But to us, the one before us is Ranir, who in the tongue of him who thee have slain is called King of Doom. We bid you depart, for though we here are too weak to dispel you, we shall undertake this work nevertheless, even with the shadow of doom upon us."
And Weda, in seeing the grimness of their faces, and perceiving the stoutness of their hearts tied to the words they had said to him, made his heart sad. He cast down the grand visage he had appeared in, and with but a solemn word, he departed from them in anguish.
Next came Burrun, and he strode to them, and the roar of his laugh was heard as he departed in the sky atop his gilded chariot. He went before the gathered, and he boasted, and he rose high above them in might, and they insulted him and bid him to come down and face them. And Burrun gave chase to them, and he forgot his mission of peace, and he gave way to battle against them, and they to him. And terrible their strife was, Burrun towering above them in might, but numerous they were, and they charged him with all manner of runtish blade and blunt hammer they could muster. And he roared a great battle cry that shook stone, and blood came from them like a torrent amidst swirling waves. And with his hands, he mauled them and beat them, blood to his fist and upon the very soles of his sandals. And he slew a great deal of them, in a rage, his hands soaked in their blood, he departed and did so proudly. Those who walked from that place where they fought him cursed him and named him a great enemy of theirs, calling him Strífreyi, which means war-spreader.
Thus, because of Burrun's ignorance, war came between the Aleuai and the Eutunaz, who gathered together their might behind those who had first come from the tears of their golden father, Aurelmir. This was Krónaðr, King of the Dawn, and he made ready the scores of the Eutunaz for battle in that age. For the giants had taken well to building and crafting since Burrun had left them, and by the coming of the assembly of the Ostlara, they no longer saw the huddled mass of the Eutun race alone in a barren field but behind stone and rock and great sealed gates. Krónaðr had assembled his people and began work on a great monument for their people, their great shining city of Mikilhuld.
And before the Aleuai in that time, the Ostlara were adorned in taught robes of the finest silks, yet beneath, they ever concealed their armor and their arms. For these were rich and each hosted armor of the finest make, scaled in gold, silver, and iron. Though many remain nameless through the ages, the champions of various companies have ever fought for the acclaim of Ederice. Their names were long in the speech of the Aleuai, but they became known as Penda, Heirmun, and Modrieg. These three in tales told represented the whole of their kin, and ever did they joyfully do the bidding of the Aleuai wherever this lay. In valor, they seemed as Men would, to hold stout hearts and brave souls in the thick of the fight. Yet similar to the Aleuai, they did not falter to wounds nor exhaustion and could fight on for an untold time.
When the great host of heaven descended upon the city of Krónaðr, the awe of Mikilhuld was not yet as great as it would become in later days, yet her high walls were strong and threw aside the attacks of even the Aleuai. Behind the great Auldrnál, the Eutunaz resided without fear, for every method had been tried to breach her great turrets and gates, but by no method was this successful. Yet every time the giants issued from one of the gates, they were slaughtered by the silver blades of the Ostlara and the stone fists of mighty Burrun.
After many years of siege, a parlay was called there, and Krónaðr and his brothers came to meet with Burrun, who had called for the aid of his siblings. There, outside the splendid city of the giants, peace was discussed atop a great kurgan which, upon giant word, was said to contain the tongue of their forefather Aurelmir.
Part V:
The Counting of the Aleuai
In the terms of the peace, it seemed gifted to the Eutunaz; the Aleuai demanded that in exchange for the forgiveness of carried blades against them, hostages were to be given to them to dwell in Ederice. And so the giants, under much careful deliberation, chose among their ranks three who would go to the abode of the gods and dwell among them for a time deemed appropriate. These were Deír, one of the order of Mikilhuld's stone masons, whose craft had been the great Hringirð. Second was Seíkr, a proud and stout warrior of the giants who had survived the sorties issued by the giants against the Aleuai. Thirdly was dearly given, for offered was Triosa, the sister of Krónaðr the king. Her volunteering was called a valiant act, for Krónaðr was protective of her and loved her greatly. Yet among them she went, escorted by those deemed true by the Ostlara, who led them beyond to Ederice, where they were to remain. And at their coming, a great roar of approval and celebration was made. Feastings were made in Aeluala for many days and nights, and Burrun, most of all in drink, lay at his most jovial in this time.
There he came to look upon Triosa, and he forgot the hatred he still bore for the race of the Eutunaz. Among the Eutunaz, she was renowned for her grace and her beauty, and also for her boldness in speech and action. In perceiving her beauty, Burrun's pride once more came to near eruption in the hall and he challenged all who would dare to contests of drinking, wrestling, and all manner of games. In truth, these were the loves of Burrun, and all who had attended him in Balihan knew well the strength of their lord in these things. When the drink was in him full, Burrun was known to sing at a great volume and burst out with ballads of merry songs.
"Oh, a two-legged mare she kicked me once,
And twice did I kiss her,
But she drank my mead and took my steed
and left me a lock of hair.
Ho! says I with my fist in the sky,
If I do so find 'er
I'll chase 'er and I'll take 'er,
and grasp 'er fine, hair.
She'll tumble and tussle and claw and kick,
With teeth, she'll look to tear.
But if my doubts were not a lout's
I think I'd still not care!
She called me foul, she called me mad
She cursed me with 'er prayer!
But here I sing, and the halls still ring
of the chase of me two-legged mare!
And Burrun's song was sung in the foremost hours of the feasting, when he and the Ostlara had drunk their fill and the hall rang out with wild laughter. Raucous in feast was Aelueala upon the coming of Triosa, who came to sit at the benches of honor beside Weda. And Burrun's gaze fell upon her, and wonder stirred within his heart. Swift and strange it was to him at that time, for it seemed that all song and merry had poured out of him, and he was left in silence at her coming.
For when the customary games that Burrun had arranged came to be, he gifted all his valor openly to her, and she came to be starkly shapen in the hall, with all the eyes of Ederice upon her in that hour. And she caught, in her utmost mind, a glimmer of amusement at his courtship, and this was not what she had intended. To her, he still was Burrun Strifreyi, one who had spilled the blood of her kin and sparked war. And as the hall quietened, some stepped aside as these two before them came together, and all present in that hour named this as one of import, though none yet could see its full measure.
And Burrun cast down his vast drinking horn, which within was as wide as the sea. He came to her with outstretched hand, callous and hard, and bid that she dance with him. Before all, Burrun, who was mightiest in body of the Aleuai, took to the center of the hall with Triosa, the daughter of Aurelmir, now slain. And his dance was deemed a marvel, for he moved with an elegance never before seen, and which none had thought ever to see. For from Triosa there came laughter, though it was not of her choosing, as she felt a joy there that she did not expect. Those who saw it named it the first love between the Aleuai and Eutunaz. Yet in truth, it was ever the bane of Triosa, for there she came to love Burrun against all her better judgments. And this was to be her doom, for despite all the woes Burrun would bring her, she could never again tear that love from her heart.
For after the merrymaking in Aeluala, the pair retreated in secret stride back to Balihan, and there Burrun took to Triosa as his wife. But word of this had reached the ear of Weda, who came into a sudden tumult. He then strode with urgency to Balihan to see the truth of this image for himself. And there Weda saw, Burrun atop his place of honor, and Triosa at his side. And a quick fear arose in Weda of this perceived dishonoring of the Eutunaz, and he commanded his brother to come before him. Burrun there fully knew the error which he had committed, but he did not yet perceive the danger in what he had done. Weda commanded him, as brother and king, to wed Triosa before all, to preserve the fragile peace with the Eutunaz. And at word of this, King Krónaðr had arranged this match which had broken his heart, that his dear sister should marry one so foul by giant sight. Yet he also demanded that Sakratua, who had not yet taken any to marriage, marry one of the Eutunaz who had journeyed to Aeluala. So Sakratua chose Deír as her husband, for the wonder of his stonecraft was breathtaking, and the terrible glory of Hildurrak was made ever more splenorous by this pairing.
Thus was forged the first union of the blood of Aurelmir with that of the Aleuai, and in that time sprang from it their second generation. For from Burrun and Triosa were born twins: Orihan, a boy, and Errandea, a girl.
Yet when Burrun beheld his firstborn son, his pride was left sour. For upon the face of the child, Burrun perceived too deeply, the image of the giants he had long despised. In a shameful wrath, while his wife remained enlabored with Errandea within her, Burrun seized the newborn by the ankle and cast him from the peak of Trongaren, which is the greatest of all mountains in Ederice.
The cries of Triosa's labor turned then to wails of horror at the deed. In labor still, she bid her midwives recover her son, though in her heart she feared this was in vain. Burrun stood unmoved, awaiting the daughter to come, and when he beheld Errandea, whose visage bore the grace of her mother, he laid down his anger and swaddled her. For her alone did Burrun give his love, and all the love he once bore Triosa was thereafter poured into his daughter, whom he treasured above all things.
Yet despite him, the midwives of Triosa found the newborn Orihan, broken but alive, amid the stone and grass at the base of Trongaren. And Orihan thereafter bore the wounds of that fall all his days. No spoken words did he, or has he, ever utter in the world, and he walked with a gait as he pulled under him a lame and useless foot. Each glimpse of his rekindled a burning rage in his father, and though for the sake of Errandea, he spared the life of his son, and forbade the boy from ever coming upon him in Balihan and bade him remain forever after in Ederice.
Yet the second union of the Aleuai and the Eutunaz bore children in Hildurrak. Sakratua and Deír there bore four children, which was deemed a blessing. First, and foremost of his siblings, was Aldryth, who was of a grim and cold mind. He took after the manner of his father and built out the borders in his mother's realm, that which would one day come to be Vuhkalin, the realm of mist and sorrow. For Aldryth was made to stand as the sentinel of that place, where the damned are punished, where their minds are cast adrift in the misty realm, to spiral into madness.
His brother was Danibalor, who in stature was lesser, but whose words and deeds rallied the slain who attended in Hildurrak. For at the rare marching of the legions of Hildurrak, Danibalor was afforded this honor. The third of their four sons was Erolen, whose vision was far and piercing. He was tasked with watching over the huddled dead who came before Sakratua in Hildurrak. For this, he was called Hraehos, which means "Long-Watcher" in the language of the Aleuai. Upon a beaten staff did he ever view the mass of the dead, and under his watch, none who have died have come again to the world of the living.
The last child of the pair was Schama, who became a shadow of grief in the hall of Hildurrak and who mourned the injustices of the world. Her shroud she wove like a black web, and stitched within were all the griefs and sorrows of the world laid out in neat order. She poured her tears into this, and it was her finest gift, which lay upon the stone walls of Hildurrak, ever-growing.
Yet greatest in deed and character of the children of Sakratua and Deír was that of their youngest. For Marinen, the smith was eager and virtuous, a seed sown amid the darkness of the land beneath. He paid a mind to the things beneath the ground, which there he saw, ores and minerals of the earth and all their wonders. For his mind was given to the manner of crafting and tinkering. For this was deemed a thing of note, and Marinen came into service among his kin as craftmaker of the Aleuai. Many are the tales told of Marinen the smith; for in the elder days of the world, he did many great and wonderous things make, the splitting of Iarga the Moon, the forging of the Vauraus, the crafting of Magan and Hristari, and the shaping of the Verunir stones. Yet their full telling is yet to come, and they are sung of at length in other tales.
