Okay, so, I lied. I’ve decided to stick to the rules after all and post on 1000. I guarantee it won’t have been worth the wait, but I’m hoping that my good behaviour will count for something. This is something I started a few years back. In an attempt to build the rudiments of a fantasy setting, I found myself wanting to start from scratch. And I mean scratch. I’ve been a fan of mythologies for ages and the idea of writing my own story of creation was just too appealing. So this became a project of its own and I drafted a very rough 50,000 words which I’ve been re-developing and re-thinking to infinity. Anyway, it starts basic. In fact, in the 1100 or so words here there isn’t even a universe yet (or rather, universes – or rather, World Tree). My idea is that the writing style would change as the environment and cast grows (which it does rapidly after a point) so that’s something at the forefront of my thoughts with these initial phases. The premise is of a series of chronicles, related nightly in the distant past by one of the current generations of gods to the mortal races. I guess that would put this in the oral tradition of writing, but I won’t pretend to know the intricate differences. I still haven’t decided whether it would be best presented in a more academic format including foot-notes and end-notes (I’ve had to develope a rudimentary calendar and broad historical outlines just for that purpose), but I’ve just decided to leave that stuff out here, barring a couple of snippets of information which wouldn’t ordinarily be part of the main text. And without further ado and dithering...gods help me Note: Big copy and paste going on here - so apologies if the format isn't ideal (although, now that I look at it, I think some spacing is required...) * * * * * The Ontologia The 1st Chronicle: The Sæd Before all things, there was the infinite Sæd (or Ontos). Whether the Sæd existed in this way for an instant or an eternity, no one can tell, for there was no Time until it give will to the first Thought and with it took the first Form. It shall not be said that the Sæd became finite, nor uttered here the final consequences of that first and greatest reformation, yet as a limitless light into a fixed and brilliant star did the Sæd amend itself, shedding all else to become infinite Oblivion. So it would remain, still and silent and alone, through time enough to wither twenty-seven generations of the oldest stars today. Then the Sæd gave sound to the first Word, and the word was Yes. The 2nd Chronicle: Mikrosa and Makrosa All things are second to the first of the Sæd and second came the first animus, flaring bright into the first element. So was born the Empyrean Mikrosa. In her first moments Mikrosa knew blissful happiness, mesmerized by the beauty of the Sæd. She may have remained forever content, but that she reached out on a sudden whim for the wondrous thing before her. Only then did she see how she was not one with the heavenly body, discovering her own form and apprehending her own will. The Empyrean exulted in what fires she could summon forth and as she spun in joy her flames danced into Oblivion. Yet her joy was quickly crushed, when she stood with the Sæd behind her to see what endless emptiness awaited her judgement. For all living things, Oblivion is a sight beyond bearing. As Mikrosa looked into that deep she was made meek, lost, and helpless, and as she grew afraid her fires dimmed and cooled. She may have despaired, her flames forever extinguished, had she not been guarded by the ignorance of infancy. Instead, she roared her defiance into Oblivion and defiant she turned to face the Sæd, where her terror was lifted to rapture and the abyss at her back was driven far from her thoughts. So she stood, calm and recovered, but never saw what happened nearby. There in the void, where her hottest flames had cooled, was formed a whisp of frost. Within it crystallized a second element, of ice, drifting ever closer to the Sæd to be imbued with animus. So was born the Gelurean Makrosa. In his first moments Makrosa wept in light and silence, struggling to be free from the overpowering heat nearby. When he stopped his weeping and first learned to see, he had drifted into the void and stared out into Oblivion. It was not so terrible for him, who had yet to see the Sæd, but for a time he could not know that he lived at all. He may have remained forever insensible, but that his infant restlessness turned him as he drifted, until he saw that distant source of all creation. Immediately, he reached out to it and discovered his own form and apprehended his own will. With slow wonder, the Gelurean approached. He felt the heat of Mikrosa’s flames, yet did not see her for the brightness of the Sæd. He would have wept again, but that he cloaked himself in a thick white frost, moving closer still, willing to bear the troublesome heat to see such splendor. Mikrosa felt a subtle chill and her flames shivered, disturbing her from her place. It was then that the Sæd-born (or Ontos-geneia) first saw each other – Mikrosa vast and menacing, Makrosa small and feeble. The Empyrean approached, unafraid, while the other had stopped, wary of the great fires. The growing heat stripped away Makrosa’s cloak of frost and he began to weep again. He panicked then, throwing out his hands to ward away the fires, and in that instant the Sæd-born touched. They each recoiled in terrible agony, neither seing that where they touched remained a faint, argent mist. Mikrosa roared with anger, flaring bright, so fierce that Makrosa took flight. When she was alone again, the Empyrean became captivated, her pain soothed by the Sæd. As he retreated Makrosa needed face Oblivion again and now, having seen the Sæd, it horrified him all the more. In an instant he forgot his pain and his fear of the flames and ceased his weeping. Turning back to the Sæd, his determination grew, and he resumed his cloak of frost, thicker and colder than before. When he soon returned Mikrosa was again unsettled and approached him in fury. Her fires were yet too fearsome and Makrosa withdrew, his cloak in tatters, weeping once more. When next Makrosa looked into Oblivion, he determined that he should never see it again. Colder still he grew and greater still his cloak as he turned and approached the Sæd. In her growing anger, the Empyrean advanced to show what great power she possessed and though he wept as she roared again, Makrosa did not flee, his cloak now so thick that it doused the fire about him. Instead, he beat his chest with glacial fists. And so began the first great cataclysm. The 3rd Chronicle: The Horos For eons the contest of Mikrosa and Makrosa raged beside the impervious Sæd. In perpetual agony for so long as they fought, their great pains spurred them in their frenzied clash and as they fought they aged from infancy to youth. The Ontos-geneia were blind to each other, Mikrosa burning bright as the Sæd, Makrosa hidden within his dense, deep frost. For all her size, ten times as great as they began and nine as they ended, Mikrosa could not extinguish or diminish the lesser element. Makrosa still often wept in this time and a stream of melted ice flowed out into the void where it froze once more. Nor was that river of shards their only creation, or the most lasting. It happened then that the Ontos-geneia grew weary of their mutual suffering and brought a stop to their dispute. Yet, as Mikrosa’s fires dimmed and Makrosa’s frost dispersed, they looked about them and despaired. With each collision of ice and fire there was created more of that silver mist, of which now there was an immense body, thereafter to be called the Horos. The mist had grown thicker and broader with each of many eons and was now too heavy to see very far and in breadth was vast beyond imagining. Within it, the Ontos-geneia had lost sight of the Sæd. Careful to avoid each other, they began to search the Horos. In this way, over the long passage of celestial time, did Mikrosa grow smaller, expending her flames that shunned the mist, while Makrosa froze and ever amassed with the new element.