LJ Idol, Topic 22: "The Straw That Stirs the Drink"
In the beginning, before mortals and the madness that sprang from their dreams, desolate in the depthless eternity of oceans vast and viridian, there lay the bulk of a god yet unformed. Around Its dark mass churned currents teeming with antediluvian precursors to life, which were caught by Its pebbly beginnings of a body, as moss on the moisture of stone.
Volcanic ash swelled with the tide and twirled in rude eddies around the Ancient, masking It from questing rays of all the stars above. As millennia passed from this murky abyss, It watched as a young world of creatures sprang forth from the waves, dotting the planet with the seeds of futures that It would have to consume. When these creatures found intelligence, their thoughts permeated through the cold waters, sinking slowly to the demesne It claimed as Its own. As their primordial cells had lent It girth in the beginning, so too did their primitive ideas gift It with a terrible awareness, far-reaching in its ability to whisper into those who taught Its words their form. With this newfound ability to communicate, It was able to acknowledge that which had been elusive prior to this growth: This fledgling planet bore no secrets worth consuming. From the blackest holes of the earth, It turned Its gaze skyward, where arrogant stars glittered with frozen promises, and learned the truth of Envy. It waited; It listened; It searched for a spark of ingenuity to kindle into the brilliant flames It would require to ascend.
Though the trials of time brought lethargy and amnesiatic fragments of ages long past, It still brooded beneath the liquid layers that shielded It from mortal eyes, constantly growing and swelling to envelop more of the ocean floor. With time, Its name washed to the surface: Tenyachogll. Invoking this name, mortals with the effervescent embers in their mind began to worship It as the wondrous and harrowing god that lingered throughout all of history. Yet, none of them blazed brightly enough to promise an escape from Its mundane earthly prison. None, that is, until the child called Rufus Waterford. Tenyachogll knew that the key to the watery cell lay within grasp.
Secrets, It whispered to the boy. So many secrets, beyond the stars. If only One could see...
Secrets.
Beyond the stars.
One could see...
In Rufus' mind blossomed visions of cities built by those who had come before him and been swallowed by the endless maw of the deep, those who knew the heinous damnation promised by the coming of Tenyachogll: the Ancient Horror, the Enkindler, and the Devourer of Worlds. To Rufus was granted the maddening promise of reality beyond reality; a ghastly gift of truth too terrible for the world to accept. And beneath the waves, Tenyachogll quivered as the boy grew into a man and found his rightful place above the Eldest, bobbing helplessly on a chaotic horizon as he began construction on the promised Bridge. The Bridge to beyond the stars. To secrets (if only one could see.)
The moment the last bolt clicked into placed on the masterful piece, Tenyachogll felt Itself freed from the petty constraints of a cradle that had bound It too long. It surged forth from the waves, thrashing the surface of the deep with a rust-red foam spattered with flotsam of demolished boats that succumbed to the violence of Its rising. At the very sight of Its grotesque, impossible form, men went mad, hurling themselves from the heights of their glorious creation and dashing their shattered minds against the metallic Tower of Babylon. For one horrific moment, Tenyachogll sought out the visage of the mortal who had brought It forth, and fulfilled Its promise of secrets, abhorrent and crushing and rare.
But the secrets beyond the stars - so many secrets - only One could see.
Lumbering, maddening in Its impossibility, Tenyachogll pulled Itself from the Deep and catapulted through the Bridge towards the hateful skies, leaving a great and dreadful massacre in Its wake.
As the Artificer made myriad worlds,
so will they be Unmade.
As aeons were, may they never again be.
As aeons are, may they never remain.
As aeons might have been, may they never become.
To construct is a duty;
to Devour is Divine.
Make sure you go have a look at Medleymisty for the other side of the deliciously insane story!
This has been a fictional entry for the twenty second topic of LJ Idol's eighth season, which is the second intersection with the topics "Bridge" and "The Straw That Stirs the Drink."
Constructive criticism encouraged, welcomed, and appreciated!
Loads of special thanks and praise to medleymisty for being an excellent partner and a fantastic writer! :)
Volcanic ash swelled with the tide and twirled in rude eddies around the Ancient, masking It from questing rays of all the stars above. As millennia passed from this murky abyss, It watched as a young world of creatures sprang forth from the waves, dotting the planet with the seeds of futures that It would have to consume. When these creatures found intelligence, their thoughts permeated through the cold waters, sinking slowly to the demesne It claimed as Its own. As their primordial cells had lent It girth in the beginning, so too did their primitive ideas gift It with a terrible awareness, far-reaching in its ability to whisper into those who taught Its words their form. With this newfound ability to communicate, It was able to acknowledge that which had been elusive prior to this growth: This fledgling planet bore no secrets worth consuming. From the blackest holes of the earth, It turned Its gaze skyward, where arrogant stars glittered with frozen promises, and learned the truth of Envy. It waited; It listened; It searched for a spark of ingenuity to kindle into the brilliant flames It would require to ascend.
Though the trials of time brought lethargy and amnesiatic fragments of ages long past, It still brooded beneath the liquid layers that shielded It from mortal eyes, constantly growing and swelling to envelop more of the ocean floor. With time, Its name washed to the surface: Tenyachogll. Invoking this name, mortals with the effervescent embers in their mind began to worship It as the wondrous and harrowing god that lingered throughout all of history. Yet, none of them blazed brightly enough to promise an escape from Its mundane earthly prison. None, that is, until the child called Rufus Waterford. Tenyachogll knew that the key to the watery cell lay within grasp.
Secrets, It whispered to the boy. So many secrets, beyond the stars. If only One could see...
Secrets.
Beyond the stars.
One could see...
In Rufus' mind blossomed visions of cities built by those who had come before him and been swallowed by the endless maw of the deep, those who knew the heinous damnation promised by the coming of Tenyachogll: the Ancient Horror, the Enkindler, and the Devourer of Worlds. To Rufus was granted the maddening promise of reality beyond reality; a ghastly gift of truth too terrible for the world to accept. And beneath the waves, Tenyachogll quivered as the boy grew into a man and found his rightful place above the Eldest, bobbing helplessly on a chaotic horizon as he began construction on the promised Bridge. The Bridge to beyond the stars. To secrets (if only one could see.)
The moment the last bolt clicked into placed on the masterful piece, Tenyachogll felt Itself freed from the petty constraints of a cradle that had bound It too long. It surged forth from the waves, thrashing the surface of the deep with a rust-red foam spattered with flotsam of demolished boats that succumbed to the violence of Its rising. At the very sight of Its grotesque, impossible form, men went mad, hurling themselves from the heights of their glorious creation and dashing their shattered minds against the metallic Tower of Babylon. For one horrific moment, Tenyachogll sought out the visage of the mortal who had brought It forth, and fulfilled Its promise of secrets, abhorrent and crushing and rare.
But the secrets beyond the stars - so many secrets - only One could see.
Lumbering, maddening in Its impossibility, Tenyachogll pulled Itself from the Deep and catapulted through the Bridge towards the hateful skies, leaving a great and dreadful massacre in Its wake.
As the Artificer made myriad worlds,
so will they be Unmade.
As aeons were, may they never again be.
As aeons are, may they never remain.
As aeons might have been, may they never become.
To construct is a duty;
to Devour is Divine.
Make sure you go have a look at Medleymisty for the other side of the deliciously insane story!
This has been a fictional entry for the twenty second topic of LJ Idol's eighth season, which is the second intersection with the topics "Bridge" and "The Straw That Stirs the Drink."
Constructive criticism encouraged, welcomed, and appreciated!
Loads of special thanks and praise to medleymisty for being an excellent partner and a fantastic writer! :)