A
long time ago, an Age before man,
Before
the elves or dwarves, before stone halls or temples,
There
lay a great people, a people of gods,
And
in their rite they named themselves the Celestians,
And
in their kingdom they lead judgement,
Goodwill
and the telling of Justice
They
were a small people, a council of
Eternal
lords that gilded the flame
of
hope,
Crushing
damnation,
Creating
peace
And
in their grand hall lay one named Therita,
The
Keeper of Gardens, of Nature, of Life.
He
watched the Old,
Protected
the New,
And
made sure the gods did not use their power,
To
too much strain.
But
their was great hardships in the life of a gardener,
Of
the great chief that bridled the fire
And
hoisted the hearth,
His
soferi*, longer than the others,
Gave
into a fledgling of hart.
But
there was hope, a younger peoples
Under
the shield of the Great Tree,
They
were small, few and civilized,
Proud
yet Pious,
But
one lead above the others.
Lo
to behold! Crutia of Kathara, a great man,
A
brave boy,
One
wholst can wrestle any bull,
Tackle
any Tarapricst**,
To
him one day Therita came forth,
And
shared stories of his troubles,
“Oh
god of kings! King of Gods!”
The
boy cried out in esctacy,
“I
do accept of Eternal,
to
guide me to my true fate.”
So
the two went off,
Went
going to the Garden of Gods,
As
Crutia withheld all of the sites,
All
the grandeur, greatness of the city.
The
City of Valleys, the City of Pure.
“Crutia”
said he, the one who holds Earth,
“You
are of the Celestians now,
A
great people with great power,
but
you must learn restraint.”
And
so the two went,
Teaching
one and learning both,
Until
the power of them was great,
And
they had learned as much.
But
there was one final taske,
for
the child of courage,
“You
must endear” Therita declared,
“You
must endear the trial we all face,
of
piety, justice, and good,
You
must go to the cave of essences,
my
son,
Learn
its secrets for the light lay blue,
and
the blue will guide you to yourself.”
And
so the brave boy boistered off,
To
the cave of champions,
Trials,
enduring dreams,
With
him his gold without rust,
But
rust are the hearts of men
Who
are too proud of what they do.
Crutia,
a proud boy,
Found
himself in the glow of god,
And
that god beckoned to him,
And
so Crutia came.
But
the god was not blue,
Nor
purple, nor pink,
But
a vast red,
A
deep cut that ran through the world,
And
he told Crutia,
“Be
wise, my son,
Do
not make false allies,
Learn
your true enemies,
And
strike fear.”
And
Crutia believed the god,
The
cut of cuts, of wounds,
And
went to Therita,
“God
of kings! King of Gods!
I
have learned thyself,
And
am readey for my throne.”
The
god looked at the boy,
Smiling,
remembering his,
Descent
into the cave,
The
cave of blue,
And
put his hand on his shoulder.
“Crutia
of Kathara,
My
son,
My
lord of knights,
Indeed
you have learned much,
And
use it well I do believe,
I
grant you your crown,
Throne,
And
you shall reside in the place of the gods.”
And
so the two lay, in the presence of power,
But
Theritas was great, and basked the city,
The
boy wanted gold, but he fetted dirt.
And
so he went to the cave,
The
cave of the red god,
And
pleading for his help,
And
the red god told him,
“Crutia,
Crutia of Kings,
You
are deserving of the crown,
The
crown of gods,
Take
this stake, and use it well,
For
its power it will behold to you.”
And
so Crutia took the Red God's advice,
And
struck the stake into the throne,
And
power overwhelming face he,
Yet
he still felt normal,
Unaided
by any but his soul.
So
for the third final time,
He
went to the Palace of the Red God,
And
ask what happen to the stake,
And
the Red God tell him
“Crutia,
Leader of Gods,
You
must be proud yet patient,
For
the day the dove hath come to you,
You
will know power,
Truth,
And
your power bith great.”
And
so Crutia waited a long while,
But
as the god hath said, the dove came,
And
Crutia hat felt power as never before,
And
Therita was but of peasant,
And
looked down upon him and he back
“My
son, Crutia,
I
trusted you with power,
But
you broke your restraints,
You
crossed from peace to damnation,
And
you must serve justice.”
But
Crutia, now powerful,
Struck
that with such power,
And
so Therita lay,
Mortally
wounded,
But
the Celestians had come.
And
so Entaros, the true god,
God
of Kings, King of Gods,
Spoke
to Crutia,
And
his voice rang into the deep bellows of the Earth.
“Crutia,
you have betrayed the Gods,
And
with this you will not be reprimanded,
Therita
trusted you, with good and with gold,
But
I will not make the same mistake.”
And
so Crutia was banished to the depths of the Red God,
And
Therita healed,
Put
back into power,
And
he held no mistake of his fault
In
his action.
“But
my son, there is no fault,”
The
God of Kings told the lord,
“Some
men are tainted,
Others
are purified,
We
cannot see through these things,
We
may only tell in time.”
And
that is the story of Adamkhuni,
The
tale of Gods,
Of
darkness and taint,
But
justice and purity.
*=
Winter
**=Now
extinct, two-legged birdlike creature. Thought to have existed during
the writing of this tale.
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