The Memory of War

Ontyrn the Stelser awoke in the dead of night, knowing that something dreadful had happened. Then, slowly, like needles sheathing in his skin, he remembered his dream. "The Priests," he said aloud, his voice croaking,"the Priests will know what to do."

Miles away, at the great Temple of the Twin Gods of Justice, chaos had already ensued. Priests were being dragged out of their homes and beaten by the Royal Guard for "instigating the war against the Fire Orcs." People who rose up to protect the priests were put to the sword. Houses were in flames, old men shook their hands on rooftops, children wailed and scratched, and nothing sat in it's proper place.

Inside the Great Temple the priests held council.

"Serapis has judged us unworthy," said one grim old man, "and abandoned us."

"Fool!" cried another priest immediately, "You utter blasphemy to doubt the Love of Serapis for all peoples! Must I quote you scripture?"

"Then what is happening outside?" said another priest quietly, "What gods defend us when we are slaughtered in the streets?" And all were quiet for a time, until a door opened and a young man came in.

"Ontyrn," said one of the priests in surprise, "you may not come here, this is our highest, most sacred counsel. You know that you trespass; leave now."

"Please forgive me," said Ontyrn with great humility and fear, "but I have had a dream sent from the gods. Please hear it, since I believe it explains what is happening." The priests began to murmur, those not too astonished to speak, and Ontyrn hurried on to add, "Please! You will know what to do! The dream will mean something to you! I am only a tender of the Outer Courts, how can I make sense of it?"

A distant hammering answered Ontyrn and quelled the murmurs of the priests. "Alright" said one, despairing, "Are we war-chiefs that we have ought else to discuss at this hour? Let us take hope that the gods have sent a message and will direct us now."

Having attained his goal, Ontyrn was suddenly filled with doubt. Who am I to command attention at this late hour when great things are being decided and unmade? He thought. What fever gripped me to come here? And, in fear for his soul and his life, he told this story:

Serapis sat gloomy in his empty, dark demesne.

He had coveted the brightness of the City of Luminous, thinking it would make a fine Paradise to house the souls of mortals. He vacated his own demesne in the Lower Silver City (where he enjoyed watching the antics of mortals) and moved into the upper reaches of Heaven, next the Void, and made his home there. Luminous meanwhile took Serapis' old home for his own, liking it better for it's proximity to the Moon which so fascinated him.

But the Lights of Luminopolous faded with the departure of the god of Light. And because of its nearness to the Void, it was drafty as well.

There was much to do and Serapis tried to focus on the tasks at hand. Papers had piled up in his hall, petitions from mortals to be tried before the Throne of Judgement. He reviewed them listlessly, distractedly watching the doings of the gods from the high towers of his demesne. Havoc was killing mortals wholesale, Yultan and Byron were at each other's throats again, and Fury was slowly growing in power to an unknown outcome. And Acanthus was rampaging across the Earth. "Subjugated, indeed," whispered Serapis absently, "I must remember to take that boy in hand."

Just then, there was a commotion in the lower hall. Serapis went down and saw that Skulk and the Wanderer had let themselves into his hall and were helping themselves to his stores. Putting aside his annoyance at their presence in his sanctuary, he bade them welcome and prepared to excuse himself to return to his studies of Reincarnation Matrix Tables.

As Serapis was inspecting the lock on his gate for damage he saw Stelos, his friend and ally, drift into view. The god wore an expression of heavy despair, and walked as though without destination.

"Stelos, dear god," cried Serapis, "Why do you look so downcast, and what has brought you to this state?" Serapis opened the gate and motioned Stelos inside.

"Fury," said Stelos, walking into the dank and drafty Paradise beside Serapis, "he has grown too powerful for me to resist. He sows discord between leaders that both honor me and diminishes the races that I have given my protection."

"Ah," said Serapis, "that is indeed grave. What will you do?" Upon these words they came into the Great Hall with the Locksmith and the Wanderer and seated themselves.

Stelos gave Serapis a steely look, then abandoned his hostility. "What can I do?" he said, throwing his hands up, "he is the god of war and conflict and now he glows with power like the sun! And in his strength he strikes at my foundation by slaying my worshippers."

To all this Serapis listened most carefully and himself became sick at heart for the failure in fortune of his ally. He counseled peace with Fury, but Stelos would have none of it. Stelos the Atlantean is prideful among his many other traits and would not care to admit a defeat outside a private counsel. Serapis therefore gave what comfort he could and offered his demesne as a place of rest to Stelos for as long as he liked.

It may be that a hundred years passed then, as mortals reckon time. Gods battled, storms raged across heaven, men warred and the plans and devices of the divine proceeded inexorably. Most of what passed in this time frighted and aggrieved Serapis, who wanted a peaceful Cosmos in which to build his Paradise, and execute his judgement of souls. What good is it to create something lasting, he thought, when gods of destruction have a free hand?

Another hundred years passed, souls languishing in the Underworld, awaiting judgement, the righteous and the wicked side by side. It weighed ever heavier on Serapis hearing their cries, and he longed to comfort the good souls who had done no harm in life and yet still suffered in death.

Then, caught in a throng of gods, it came to Serapis' ears that Fury wished for Death Eternal, that Obliteration from which no god can return. Shocked, he reached out through the press of divinities and spirits and seized him, saying "Fury! What can this mean? Why do you wish to die?" But Fury could not or would not give him any answer besides saying again and again that his life was empty and that he wished to be no more.

Finally, because Serapis would not relent in his questioning, Fury agreed to speak with him privately, in the Hall of Doom. There they met, two gods who had never before spoken outside of councils. Again, Serapis pressed him, asking to know why he wished to die, hoping that the telling of it would reveal some way to avoid ultimate destruction. It was then, in those somber halls that had witnessed countless frothing accusations and cold, bloodless oaths, that the god of battles told his quiet tale of desperation and defeat.

"I have power," he said, voice echoing through the giant halls, "but neither respect nor love. None of those that fear me will heed what I say, nor trust me in the slightest, nor agree to my plans. And none of those who call me friend care for me except to use me as a threat to them that they fear. I have cast down civilizations, reduced my enemies and raised great power, but it does not comfort me. I am a hollow god, Serapis, and I live without purpose. From the Void I came, and to the Void I will return."

They talked a bit more, and in this god's despair Serapis saw a hope for redemption. He asked Fury if he would care make his death meaningful by shedding his blood for mortals. To this Fury agreed, willing to do anything to end the life he despised. The pair then left the Hall of Doom and sought out Mordak's weapon, made for another purpose but capable of destroying gods.

The War God and the Hope of Mortals found the weapon in the possession of the Twins, who at first would not believe in Fury's determination. They questioned him straightly and tested his conviction, finally believing him but thinking him mad. Then Luminous, who was with them, said, "Would you Obliterate yourself on the Moon?"

Then the heart within Serapis was pierced, for as he saw plainly the greed of the god of Light wishing to use up Fury to the last drop for his own ends, he saw his own selfishness as well. I am no better, thought Serapis, for I would crush this god as well, and sell the powder at the market if it meant I could save the mortals I so love. And he wished to fall where he was, and weep for his own weakness and cruelty, but he stood straight instead and looked on the company with dry eyes.

The Twins, as it turned out, could not spare much of their time for Fury and departed without agreeing to anything. Fury pursued them, threatened them and smote their races, but they would not leave their counsels to heed him. He demanded the Weapon that Obliterates, that he might destroy himself, but they ignored him.

Serapis accompanied Fury everywhere, hoping to keep him from desperate acts, hoping to find some way to save his life. In the end, Fury asked to speak to the Great Council. "I will make my case to them," he said, "and they will either give me the homage and respect that is my due, or I will remove myself from the Universe that does not love me." Saying this, he looked to Serapis, who knew the ancient chants and formulae that could summon all the gods to their Convocation.

"This I will do," said Serapis, and he sang the ancient song. The song called to the Messenger of the Gods biding her come and deliver the news to all realms. But the Messenger did not come. Serapis extended the chant and made it louder, but the Messenger did not hear. This Era draws to a close, thought Serapis, if I do not bring the word myself we will all fall asleep before a Council can be held. So Serapis summoned his power and drew down the mantle of the messenger upon himself, investing all his strength in the duty of notifying the gods. Then he went to all realms and told each greater god of the meeting. None were surprised as there was much to discuss.

The counsel was called, and the gods came late, each tarrying to finish their own business. Fury felt a further sting in their disinterest. Now Serapis hoped to reconcile the gods to Fury, though he knew it would be a difficult task. As the gods seated themselves Luminous shone brightly before the Counsel and drew all eyes to him. Serapis was silenced by the Aura of Power that came from him.

But Luminous was distracted with dreams of the Moon, and sweat stood on his brow, and he did not know what to say to the assembly. Then Serapis spoke, "I have called this Counsel," he said, "and for Fury's sake. His life hangs in the balance and this is a forum for him to speak to you all." And they all looked to Fury.

Fury spoke a few words. He spoke of the gods' disdain for him, and his longing for acceptance. He would have said more, but Luminous shone forth again and drew all eyes to him, and said, "It is over." The chant that summoned the Council died then, and the ancient spells that empower the decisions of the counsel failed. The Hall of Doom fell silent.

Serapis was stunned. There could have been no greater insult to the God of War than to end the Council while he held the floor. Some gods remained, but Luminous and the Twins departed like crows, heralding the death of a god. The negotiation that followed was like unto constructing a house of sticks on shifting sands. Between Fury and the gods there was only fear on the gods' side and frustration on his. The battle was lost, Serapis knew, and great sadness came over him. But when Fury suddenly rose, and strode out of the Council, Serapis did not hesitate to follow.

Through the Heavens Fury stormed, making straight for the terrible Void which even gods fear, intending never to return. Serapis did not call out, nor plead, nor ask him to wait, but only sped after him, following him straight into the Void. As the starry gloom of the Void closed about them, Fury turned to look back at Serapis in astonishment. "You have followed me, "he said, "This is not an easy place to leave."

"Harder still for me since I have nothing with which to bribe the demons," said Serapis with a chuckle, "but I could not let you go to your final rest alone. I will walk with you a ways, if you will let me, until I am forced to turn back." So Serapis and Fury walked the path in the Void, toward a point in the distance which seemed to spiral away as they approached.

They spent a time in silence. There was little more to say, but when they reached what seemed to be a precipice, Fury turned to face Serapis a final time.

"I grew up here, you know," said Fury.

"I had heard that," Serapis responded. Again there was a silence. "Is there anything you want me to tell them for you?"

Fury removed the red sash that marked him an outlaw and put it into Serapis' hand. "Make them understand," he said. With that, he turned and stepped out of view forever.

With the loss of the god of War, the Earth and the Heavens began to change. Dreading the suffering to come, Serapis took hold of the tatters of that Messenger's mantle and sent a small portion of his Spirit out to the Earth, to warn men of all races of the Great Suffering to come.

"War is dead," said the Spirit of Serapis, "but there will be no Peace." The Spirit raced through all the Earth on a stolen, rapidly crumbling chariot. A dream it gave in this country, a message of hope or stern warning in that. "Hold fast to the Word of the Gods and do not heed deceiving demons," it cried through daydreams and in answer to prayers and from the mouths of statues and prophets and children. At the last, that small part of Serapis died on the Earth, unable to escape on the heavenly chariot. Descending into the Sea it cried to all Men, "Serapis is your Hope, and will save them that turn from demons." It struck the surface of the waters then, and became one with them, and perished.

Above, deep in the Void which immortals fear, Serapis wept. Not for that small death of his Spirit, but for Fury who was not loved, for the mortals who would suffer for it, and for the pride of the gods, which would slay them all yet.

Ontyrn finished his story and looked at the priests with a calm countenance. The tale had changed him.

The Eldest stood with arms raised and tears streaming down his cheeks. He was still standing thus when the door burst in and a spear pierced him through the heart. The priests and servants scattered like mice then, fleeing before the soldiers coming through the broken door. All except the Youngest, who took Ontyrn by the arm and led him to a secret passage.

As the pair crawled through a dank passageway beneath the burning temple, the Priest said to Ontyrn, "From Chaos comes salvation, and from Death, hope. You will be a High Priest now, and spread this message, and I will be your loyal man, and die for you."

"There is hope," was all he said back.